
MARTIN’S COENEK 

BY 

ADELBEET CLAEK 


UBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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A Novelette 



*1 





John Martin 
of 

Martin’s Comer 





Lakeport, N. H. 
1917 




Copyright 

1917 

By Adelbert Clark 


JUN 1 1 1917 


©aA4fl7;}78 


John Martin 
of 

Martin’s Corner 



Contents 


I 

The Dreamer 8 

II 

The Stranger 23 

III 

Reflections 46 

IV 

The House of the “Singing 

Bottle ” 62 

V 

Rosemond’s Love 82 

VI 

Meadis’ Oath 108 


132 


VII 

The “Best Room” 

VIII 

On Lake Winnepesaukee 154 

IX 

A Troubled Heart 176 

X 

At Father Rodney’s Parish 202 

XI 

Telling Loran 

XII 

Loran Writes to Rosemond 244 

XIII 

Arguments 264 

XIV 

Rosemond Arrives 285 


XV 

Rosemond & John Martin 298 


XVI 

Loran’a Faith 

XVII 


312 


The Wedding 


321 


I 





I 

THE DREAMER 


rpHE sun was sinking behind 
the hills leaving a trail of 
crimson along the west, and 
overhead, the sky was a sea of 
gleaming gold. It was June, and 
a light breeze blowing from the 
meadows bore on its wings the 
sweetness of growing things 
deliciously to John Martin as he 
stood at the garden-gate where 
he had stood a thousand times 
before. He was nearing fifty, 
though the years had been kind 
& kept him young. Tall, hand- 
some, well built, he had never 
married, but lived alone with 
a handsome youth he had 
rescued from the clutches of the 


8 


world when a little lad of ten. 

Behind him the old house 
where he was born caught the 
ruddy glory of the west upon its 
ivy-draped wiudows until they 
glittered like rubies. Within its 
weatherbeaten walls, his father 
had first seen the light of day, 
had grown to sturdy manhood & 
had brought home a bride, John’s 
mother; beneath its sloping eaves 
her gentle spirit had passed out, 
and a few years later his father 
had joined her. John hoped 
also to spend his remaining 
years in the old home where 
every ancient beam and time- 
stained clapboard, every creaking 
stair and rusty hinge was elo- 
quent of tender memories . 

I don’t think anyone really 
knew John Martin, though many 


9 


thought they did, simply be- 
cause he had been born and 
lived most of his life among 
them, and in a small country 
town like the Corners, everybody 
knows everybody else and what 
everybody does not know, is not 
considered worth knowing. 

John Martin had lived at the 
Corners all his life with the 
exception of two years he had 
spent in Pennsylvania when a 
young man. Though his house 
was old and weatherbeaten, it 
was known and pointed out to 
everyone far and near, for John 
Martin was a lover of flowers 
and his garden was the most 
beautiful and luxuriant any- 
where for many miles around. 
Eambling roses of every des- 
cription, shade and color grew 
10 


there in profusion with holly- 
hocks & dahlias in their seasons. 
Sweet peas and lavender and 
mignonette and marigolds and 
asters crowded every inch of 
space, and morning-glories and 
woodbine clambered to the eaves 
and reached out their tendils 
like groping fingers to every 
gentle breeze that blew. Birds 
sang all day in the orchard, and 
in the midst of it all, day in & 
day out, John Martin moved in 
a dream. He was kind, always 
courteous to friend or stranger, 
but there was ever va reserve in 
his manner, a shadow of mystery 
brooding in his eyes, a guarded 
habit of speech that roused their 
curiosity and kept them guessing. 
Some thought one thing, some 
hinted at another, but none 
11 


really knew. What could trouble 
guch a man as John Martin, 
was the question asked over and 
over by the gossips. He had no 
one but himself to care for, save 
his ward Loran, who was now a 
man grown & able to carve his 
own fortune. Why should John 
Martin have spent all his days 
in single blessedness? Perhaps it 
was his peculiarit}’— his hobby, 
for every man has his hobby, 
but why this melancholy air, 
this dreaming attitude. People 
remembered he had not always 
been so, but only since his return 
from Pennsylvania. Thus they 
questioned and wondered and 
never got any nearer the truth, 
for he was silent. 

John Martin was a man with 
a broad mind, cultivated from 
12 


close study of the great lessons 
of life, though he had never 
mingled with the world relig- 
iously or politically, but had 
calmly and quietly followed his 
chosen path. His few friends 
loved him because they couldn’t 
help it, and to Loran, his ward, 
he was a god. The young man 
clung to him as a child clings 
to its mother, and indeed he had 
been father and mother to the 
the little waif. 

The elderly ladies at the 
Corners felt it to be a distinct 
affront to their sex that he had 
never married — especially those 
with marriageable daughters. 
Never a sewing-circle met or a 
church fair planned but John 
Martin the dreamer became the 
subject of many wagging ton- 
13 


gues. His peaceful and secluded 
existence provoked criticism; some 
thought him a “slacker” inclined 
to shirk life’s battles when he 
should have met them like a 
soldier and learned from exper- 
ience that we ^ all grow through 
bearing burdens. All agreed 
that he was “queer” perhaps a 
little “touched” in the head, but 
still John Martin lived on in his 
own chosen way. Often he was 
questioned by some of his friends 
— not his associates, for he had 
none; but he always put them 
off with a smile and a shrug of 
his shoulders, and if he was 
questioned in regard to Loran, 
he would say, “Loran must speak 
for himself.” But Loran would 
not speak; he too, had learned 
how to remain silent like his 


14 


Uncle John as he had chosen 
to call John Martin. But on 
this particular evening when I 
have made my readers acquainted 
with him, John Martin seemed 
to be in a far more melancholy 
mood than he had ever been 
before. Perhaps the consciousness 
that he was growing old had 
been suddenly borne upon him 
and set him wondering what the 
end would be and what would 
become of his boy, who was the 
core of his heart- Who could 
tell what was passing through 
the dreamer’s mind that day? 

The sunset was slowly fading 
from the sky and the soft purple 
veil of night was settling over 
the green and fragrant meadows 
that stretched for miles before 
his eyes until they melted in the 
15 


glory and grandeur of the 
amethystine hills beyond. The 
birds were still singing their 
happy songs in the orchard at 
the back of the house, and a 
faint smile stirred his well-cut 
lips as he listened, one hand 
resting on the gate and his rapt 
face turned to the west. Far 
away beyond those everlasting 
hills, clothed in the solemn beauty 
of the fast approaching night, 
John Martin saw a vision of 
another vine-clad cottage and a 
sweet face touched with glory 
of another eventide. 

He was so absorbed in his 
dreaming that he did not notice 
L»oran as he entered the gate & 
looked tenderly at him with a 
half-whispered, “dear Uncle 
John.’’ He had seen John Martin 


16 


80 often in that mood, he had 
learned not to disturb or wake him 
from what perhaps was a happy 
dream, though to Loran it was 
like a daggar thrust into his own 
heart to see him so and not to 
be able to comfort him or share 
his secret sorrow. 

The boy walked slowly to the 
house & seated himself on the 
steps, & he too, began to dream, 
though his were the bright and 
happy dreams of youth. 

An hour passed and still John 
Martin stood there. The stars 
came out & the perfume wafted 
from the meadows grew heavy 
with the falling dew; nature 
was taking its rest. The birds 
had ceased to sing, save now and 
then, when one would twitter 
softly to its mate. The lilacs by 
17 


the gate nodded restlessly as if 
they were trying to touch the 
dreamer’s face with their cool 
green branches that had already 
began to gather the moisture 
from the falling night. A crick- 
et under the gate began to sing, 
and another and still another in 
the tangle of vines along the 
garden-wall took up the refrain. 

A stranger, a wanderer in the 
night, approaching the place, 
saw the tall form by the gate, 
and drew near. John Martin did 
not see the stranger, yet was 
conscious of a presence near him. 

“Beg pardon, sir, for inter- 
rupting you, but could you 
inform me if there is such a 
man, a lawyer, in this ere town 
by the poetic name of Oakley 
Esden?” 


18 


“There is/’ replied Martin 
laconically, 

“ And does he live near here?” 

“He lives about a mile far- 
ther up the road.” He did not so 
much as look at the pilgrim. 

“ How long has he lived here?” 

“All his life.” 

“ And you — ” 

“ The same.” 

“ And Mrs Bartlett.” 

“She lives on the hill.” 

“Where ” 

“In the old house known as 
the “singing-bottle.” 

“ Haunted?” 

“I presume so.” 

The stranger was anxious to 
enter into conversation, but 
Martin was not in the mood to 
talk on this particular evening. 
His heart & mind was far away. 

19 


But the stranger was persistent 
and provoking. 

“Could I have a drink of 
water ?“ 

“Yes, you will find the well 
at the back of the house.” 

He entered the gate & Loran 
went to the well and drew the 
water for him, waiting while he 
drank, eying the young man 
closely. 

“Do you live here at the 
Corners 

“Yes sir, I live here with 
Uncle—” replied Loran, check- 
ing himself as he realized he 
was talking to a stranger. 

“O yes, — by the way, what 
did your uncle say his name 
was? My memory aint very 
good.” 

“ I don’t know.” 

20 


“ Don’t know !” 

“No sir, I didn’t hear him 
tell you.’’ 

The stranger muttered angrily 
as he returned to the gate and 
tried once more to draw Martin 
into conversation. 

“Thank you, sir.’’ 

“You are quite welcome.” 

“A fine evening.” 

“Yes.” 

“Have a smoke,” said the 
stranger taking a couple of 
cigars from his pocket. 

“No, thanks,” replied Martin. 

The stranger lit one of the 
cigars, but not for a moment 
did he take his eyes from John 
Martin. He tried once more to 
get him interested, but met with 
a sad failure, and so walked up 
the dusty road, looking back 
21 


over his shoulder as he went. 

When he had gone a dozen 
yards he stopped, turned square- 
ly around and stood watching 
the man at the gate, now barely 
visible in the gathering gloom. 

“Well, I’ll be damned!” 


22 


II 


THE STRANGER 

JT was late in the evening 
when the stranger reached 
the office of the village attorney 
and found the place closed. He 
was about to profane the peace- 
ful eventide with curses at his 
ill luck, when Oakley Esden 
confronted him. 

“Good evening, did you wish to 
see me?” 

The stranger turned with a 
look of surprise. 

“Good evening, sir Well, 

well, if it ’aint lawyer Esden, 
himself !“ 

The two men shook hands 
warmly and Esden peeped 
inquiringly over his steel-bowed 
glasses at the stranger. 


23 


“Let me see — ’’ he began 
slowly, looking* the man before 
him over, from head to foot 
with a judicial air. 

But the stranger was too spry 
and launched a question ahead 
of him. 

“ Oakley Esden, twenty years 
have not changed you very 
much,’’ he interrupted. “Your 
hair is white to be sure, and 
your step is not so firm, but your 
features are fair & your physique 
is well preserved. God has 
certainly been good to you.’’ 

“Yes,’’ said Esden, “but who 
are you?’’ He was now deeply 
interested in the stranger and 
stared at him closely as they 
stood together in the shade of 
the great tree in front of his 
office. “ Who are you, that you 
24 


remember me after twenty 
years?” 

The . stranger did not seem to 
hear as he went on with his 
remarks about Esden. 

“To most of us the years do 
wonders. We are changed might- 
ily. But you, Esden, you have 
been spared by the hand of 
Father Time, & you still retain 
the elasticity of a youth at 
twenty. Ha, ha.” 

The old lawyer was getting 
fidgety & it pleased the stranger 
to see him hopping about. 

“But you have not told me 
your name, persisted the anxious 
lawyer who had not removed 
his eyes from the face of the 
stranger, for even a moment. 

“By-the-way, Esden, as I 
came up the road, I passed an 
25 


old house in a garden of old- 
fashioned flowers. It was a 
divine spot. Something like 
Paradise must be made, I am 
thinking. There was a man 
standing at the gate & , looking 
across the meadow and he must 
have been in a trance for he did 
not notice me at all as I came 
up and yet, he spoke to me. 
There was something familiar 
in his voice. Something that 
reminded me of other days. I 
tried to see his face but he would 
not let me.” 

“Huh, John Martin,” grudg- 
ingly replied Esden, provoked 
that he could not get a word 
from his strange visitor, as to 
his identity. 

“John Martin?” 

“Yes. do you know him?” 

26 


“I have heard of him.” 

” He and his adopted son 
Lioran live there.” 

Esden failed to see the sudden 
start and the strange look of the 
stranger as the name of John 
Martin was mentioned, and the 
stranger was thankful if ever he 
was in his life, for the dusky 
veil of the night. But he quickly 
recovered his pose and played 
his part well. 

“Oakley Esden must never 
know who I am. I thought 
John Martin was dead ! Surely 
it was his name that I saw in 
the paper. It must be there were 
two John Martins living here, or 
perhaps the reporter got mixed 
in his screed. But this boy Loran; 
I can’t understand who he, is! 
I wonder if John saw me 
27 


coming up the road? If he did 
and recognized me, that would 
explain why he kept his face 
turned away. Oh, no, no, that 
would he impossible. He could 
not have recognized me!” he 
thought to himself. 

All this passed through his 
mind in an instant. 

“Sit down here on the steps, 
stranger, and I will tell you 
about this man John Martin, for 
he is a strange mortal, there’s 
no getting around that,” said 
Esden as he seated himself on 
the steps & indicated the place 
for the stranger. 

“Did you come from far?” 
again cross-questioned Esden in 
another effort to learn the name 
of his visitor; the man again 
ignored the question. 

28 


“Has this man Martin always 
lived here at the Corners?” 

Esden saw that it was useless 
to question him, so he began 
with his story, muttering under 
his breath as he did so: “Never 
mind, I will get you yet!” 

“ Well yes and no. It is a 
rather long story, and perhaps 
you had better wait until morn- 
ing when you can come over & 
I will tell you all I know about 
it.” 

“O, go on with your story. It 
is not late and I am getting 
interested,” laughed the stranger 
leaning back against the closed 
office door, so that his face was 
in a shadow. 

“So am I,” returned Esden 
chuckling to himself . “You have 
not stated your business, yet!” 

29 


“O shucks, my business can 
wait. I am more interested in 
this man Martin, now.” 

‘‘All right,” said Esden, ‘‘I’ll 
be as brief as possible, but there 
are so many outs and ins to these 
personal stories, that it is rather 
hard to cut them short, for when 
you try, you usually have to 
start over again, or you will get 
mixed in the details and leave 
out something that ought to be 
in, but I’ll try and tell it as 
best I can. My memory is not 
as good as it was twenty years 
ago. No sir, it isn’t that’s 
certain,” and he chuckled as if 
at a good joke. 

‘‘Well, sir, from childhood, 
John Martin was an odd child. 
His folks were a very pious, 
devout, sort of people, and were 
30 


very careful with whom their 
little boy played. He was their 
only child and this may have 
been the cause of their strictness, 
and I firmly believe no one 
should try to bring up a child 
alone. If you are going to have 
any, it is better to have two, at 
least. Well, as I was saying, 
John was brought up alone, and 
he only had but one companion 
in his boyhood, and strange as 
it may seem, this boyhood friend 
was an orphan from the Orphans’ 
Home ! Is not that enough to 
make you split your sides? Not 
that a boy from the Home is 
not good enough for other boys 
to play with, but you would 
think that folks as pious and 
proud as John Martin’s folks 
were, would not let their son 


even look at such a child! But 
they did, it seems. This orphan 
was George Castle by name and 
he and John were of an age, and 
wherever you would find one, 
you would find the other. This 
’young George Castle had been 
adopted by a man by the name 
of Frank Greenfield who lived 
in the big brick house up the 
road here at the Corners. He was 
a pretty boy, a manly little 
fellow and everyone seemed to 
think he was just right and 
couldn’t be tempted. There are 
folks that think about that way, 
and that shows just what sort of 
stuff their brains are made of. 
There is not a boy or girl, man 
or woman on the face of God’s 
footstool that can be kept or 
shielded from temptation! You 
32 


may keep them hidden away 
from other children and care- 
fully packed in velvet lined 
boxes at nights and never allow 
them to know what a pack of 
cards looks like, and you may 
tell them all you want to about 
hell-fire & brimstone, but when 
you have done all this and they 
have reached the age where 
they are their own boss, they 
will not rest until they find oiii 
what the aforesaid hell-fire and 
brimstone is like for themselves. 
They want to taste the brimstone. 
I’ve watched this sort of thingfor 
more than sixty years, and I 
tell you the carefully reared 
children on the average are worse 
than — hell! You’ve got to give 
a child a little lee- way, and not 
for a moment teach it to think 


33 


that it is so much better than 
others, and you can’t fill up a 
child’s mind with the fear of a 
devil and hell-fire and hope to 
always keep the child in that 
mood, for the day is coming 
when the child will know better! 
Why, when I was a boy, all 
you could hear in the churches 
were awful sermons promising 
hell-fire and brimstone, but I 
notice you don’t hear it now. 
How do you account for that? 
If such things were true once, 
why are they not true now ? 
Does Time and Change make 
any difference in this written 
Word of God that has been 
handed down to us through the 
ages? If it does, what can we 
gain or expect to profit by its 
teachings? 


34 


** I guess you’ll have to put 
a check-rein on me if you want 
to get at the bottom of John 
Martin’s story. Well, as I w’as 
saying, these two boys grew up 
like a pair of colts, and between 
you and I, the very devil was 
in them both. They were a sly 
pair of kids — most everybody 
thought them angels, but they 
were not, by any means, and 
when they reached the age of 
eighteen, J)elieve me, they were 
“some” boys. The first the 
folks at the Corners knew, they 
had packed their duds & started 
off for Pennsylvania and were 
away a little more than a year; 
yes, it might have been two 
years, when Frank Greenfield, 
George’s foster father received a 
letter from him saying he was 
35 


going farther south, but he did 
not mention John’s name. About 
a month later, John Martin re- 
turned to the home of his 
parents, a changed lad, I can 
tell you. It did something for 
him to get out away from home 
and learn to paddle his own 
canoe ! Is it not the making of 
every lad? Of course it is. They 
have got to learn life from 
experience. They have got to 
know both sides of the human 
race to profit by their know- 
ledge. You take a boy that’s a 
“democrat” because his father 
is a ‘‘democrat” or a “republi- 
can” because his father is a 
“republican” or a “prohibition” 
because his father stands for a 
dry state and what is he good 
for ? I am not discussing any 


36 


one of these political parties, 
for I presume any one of them 
is good .enough in themselves, 
but what I am driving at, is 
that a boy must be free to learn 
all sides of these great questions 
for himself in order to think 
for himself, and when he has a 
clear knowledge of things, then 
let him make his choice & face 
the world like a in an! The one 
who has to be guarded from 
every sort of temptation is weak 
and more likely to prove a 
failure than one who has been 
into the thick of the fray and 
learned from experience, to guard 
himself. 

Eben Martin, John’s father, 
was a well-to-do man, not rich, 
but he had a snug little sum in 
the bank here at the Corners, 
37 


and he came from a family of 
the first settlers. He lived in the 
house built by his grandfather. 
He was of a quiet nature and a 
good neighbor ai.d a hard work- 
er and Mrs. Martin was the 
same. She was a fine woman as 
ever you saw and always a good 
mother, and naturally she was 
happy at her boy’s return, but 
oh, what a difference had taken 
place in the w’ild, headstrong lad 
of eighteen! What a change had 
come over John Martin during 
the two years he had been away. 
It seemed as though a score of 
3'ear8 had heaped their burdens 
upon his shoulders, and I am 
thinking it was the loss of his 
friend, his companion that sat 
so heavily upon him. His parents 
did everything in their power to 
38 


locate the whereabouts of George 
Castle, but the earth seemed to 
have opened and swallowed him, 
and during all these years he 
has not been seen or heard of. 
I’ll bet if the truth w'as known, 
John Martin’s father spent more 
than five hundred dollars in 
search for the lad. Well, by & 
by, Eben Martin and his wife 
passed away and were laid to 
rest in the family plot on the 
side of the hill just back of the 
house where Eben was born and 
married and where John was 
born too. Soon after his parents 
died, John went to the Orphans’ 
Home and took out a boy. I 
presume he was lonesome and 
wanted the child to cheer him 
up, but Lord ! the child grew up 
just like him. He was a second 


39 


John Martin through & through. 
I don’t know what John 
Martin wanted to take him away 
from the Home fnr! He certainly 
would have been better off where 
he was, and had a darned sight 
better training. I wondered how 
the people down there happened 
to let the boy go away to a man 
with no women-folks. Loraii is 
a good boy however, in fact, one 
of the finest lads in the town. 
He is about twenty-two or three, 
but you know as long as a fellow 
stays single, he is considered a 
boy until he is about thirty. He 
is keeping company with Meadis 
Bartlett and the two are the 
most popular young people here 
at the Corners, always happy & 
full of fun, and the life of every 
party. But as for John Martin, 
40 


he is pining his life away for 
his boyhood chum, George Castle, 
I am thinking,” 

” Are you sure that John Mar- 
tin took the boy from the Home?” 
inquired the stranger who had 
remained silent as he listened 
attentively to Esden’s story. 

“Sure,” replied the lawyer 
looking over his glasses, ‘‘of 
course I am sure ! Where on 
earth did you suppose he could 
have got him?” 

‘‘Did John Martin say that 
he took the boy from the Home?” 

‘‘Well no, but of course he 
did.” 

‘‘O, I see,” said the stranger, 
‘‘go on with your story. How 
old was the boy when he took 
him?” 

‘‘O, I don’t know exactly. He 


41 


might have been twelve or a 
little less, I should judge. He’s 
a smart boy, now I tell you, & 
he’s a sharp one, too. John 
Martin has taught him to hold 
his tongue, and he has taught 
him the great value of silence. 
His lips are sealed and you 
might talk to him until Doom’s 
Day & you would be no nearer 
to what you wauled to learn 
when you got through than 
when you commenced. He is not 
afraid to say “I do not know” 
if it fits the case, or to say “I 
am not at liberty to discuss the 
subject,” if you should question 
him in regard to his uncle John 
as he calls John Martin. He 
will answer “Uncle John must 
speak for himself,” and if you 
question John Martin in regard 
42 


to Loran you will get the same 
reply. They are a strange pair & 
no one understands them & they 
are often the topic of conversat- 
ion among the folks at the 
Corners. They live quietly by 
by themselves and ask no favors 
of anyone, but are always ready 
to lend a helping hand when- 
ever they are called upon. They 
do not go out of their way to do 
good, but they do good whenever 
it comes their way. Some folks 
will run their feet off to help 
someone in China, and let their 
neighbors starve. John Martin 
is a sensible man, but he has his 
faults and odd traits like the 
rest of us.” 

The stranger listened eagerly 
until Esden had finished. He 
then arose wearily as though 
43 


stiff froai his journey over the 
rough country roads. 

“Thank you, Oakley Esden. It 
is getting late and I fear I have 
kept you out too long, but your 
story was mighty interesting and 
someday I will be pleased to 
hear more of this John Martin, 
good night.” 

“But my friend, you have not 
stated your business with me, 
yet!” said the old lawyer wring- 
ing his hands nervously. 

“No, but I will see you again.” 

Esden watched him as he walk- 
ed slowly down the road, but on 
remembering that he had not 
learned the name of this strange 
pilgrim, called out: 

“By what name shall I call 
you?” 

“John Smith.” 


44 


Esdeii stood stareing at him 
with open mouth. 

The stranger did not turn 
around, but walked away leav- 
ing the old lawyer scratching his 
head and muttering to himself. 

“John Smith— John Smith. I 
don’t recall anyone around these 
parts by that name. It is common 
enoiigh, the Lord knows, but 
there have not been any Smiths 
living at the Coriu rs except old 
Solomon Smith, and he has been 
dead for thirty years or more. 
Let me see, did he have any boys? 
No, he had three girls, but no 
boys. Now let’s see, seems to me 
there was a boy! I’ll ask Betsy, 
she’ll know, her memory is 
better than mine. 


45 


Ill 

EEFLECTIONS 


J'T was a beautiful night, a 
night of stars twinkling in a 
setting of dusky purple, overlaid 
with a filmy trail of new silver 
extending from north to south 
like the veil of a lady bedecked 
with jewels, waiting the coming 
of her lover. It was nothing 
new; it has been seen many, 
many times — “The Milky Way.” 
In the grass under the gate, 
the crickets still kept up their 
cheery songs & the gentle west 
wind was laden with the perfumed 
promise of approaching summer. 

It was late when John Martin 
went ill doors, his hands in his 
pockets and his head bowed in 
profound thought. 

46 


Loran had grown weary of 
waiting for him and gone in 
more than an hour before. 

“Poor Uncle John,” he mur- 
mered pityingly over and over. 

The youth went to his room 
and before retiring, opened a 
little lacquered box in which he 
kept his few treasures. He took 
from it his mother’s rosary of 
well-worn beads, and in the 
hushed chamber, alone with his 
own unselfish heart, he said his 
prayers reverently, quietly, with 
the touching faith of a little 
child. He had learned one of 
the greatest secrets in life— how 
to pray — alone. When he had 
finished his devotions he once 
more tenderly placed it in its 
place in the box and took out a 
slender chain of gold with a 


47 


small locket attached. He opened 
the locket carefully and kissed 
the pictured face within. 

“Mother,” he whispered, “dear 
unhappy mother!” 

He gazed long at the pictured 
face and on this particular night 
he fancied it looked back at him 
with a happy smile on the 
beautiful lips — a mother’s tender 
smile, which is radiant with all 
pure and lovely things. The 
holy hush of a starry night, a 
newly opened rose wet with dew, 
a pink cloudlet at evening, the 
breeze from an old-fashioned 
flower-garden, the depth of a 
quiet wood, clear running water, 
a peach blossom trembling with 
ecstasy against the April blue, 
the laugh of a little child, the 
hallowed peace of a cloister, for 
48 


all these are of love’s kingdom, 
and a mother’s love is the heart 
of love. 

Loran dashed away a sudden 
tear and once more took the 
rosary from its place in the box 
and putting it on the stand near 
his bed he laid the open locket 
beside it. 

He went to the window and 
looked out upon the garden where 
John Martin still stood dreaming. 
The breath of the roses came to 
him like incense, the night-wind 
shook the branches, and the 
vines tapped on the sill like 
invisible fingers. He stood there 
for some minutes his eyes slowly 
filling with tears — not for him- 
self, but for Uncle John. Loran 
was not a selfish boy. He was all 
kindness and love, as gentle and 
49 


affectionate as it is possible for 
a human being to be. Be did 
not think of his own happiness, 
his one desire was to make his 
Uncle John happy; that would 
be happiness enough for him. 
He knew that happiness is born 
of real love and that no one can 
really know what the love of 
God is, until they first know the 
sublime heights of human love 
and self-sacrifice. 

Love is a light that can never 
die, a star that will never set. 
Its light is a guidance always, 
even through the darkest storm. 
Nothing can obscure its beacon 
rays, even though at times our 
faith is ever so small. To the 
wayfarer on the uneven road of 
life, it is his hope— the eternal 
foundation of his faith. 


50 


Again Loran knelt by his snowy 
bed and this time he uttered a 
prayer that was all his own: 

“Lord, teach me to serve, 
rather than to be served; 
give me understanding that 
I may be better qualified for 
the daily tasks of life. Teach 
me obedience and keep me 
kind and gentle always.” 

A simple prayer, but one that 
could not fail to reach the ear 
of the Master when uttered by a 
devout soul. 

Loran turned his lamp low & 
got into bed and was soon fast 
asleep. His dreams were sweet, for 
God had answered his prayers 
and blessed him with a peaceful 
heart. Contentment even in our 
own dreams is a divine gift. 

51 


There is much of Heaven upon 
this earth of ours did we but 
know it. There is an old legend 
of a man and woman who lived 
and loved and worked together, 
and when they died and went 
to Heaven, they found they had 
been living in Paradise all the 
time. 

We are living in Paradise now, 
but many of us do not know it. 

John Martin breathed deep 
and long like a man awakening 
from sleep. He passed his hand 
across his forehead like one just 
awakening to consciousness and 
his step was slow as he turned 
toward the house where all was 
quiet. Yes, Loran had left 
the light burning for him, he 
thought, as he glanced at the 
52 


chamber window as he slowly 
walked up the path. 

“O, God, how long!” he 
whispered to himself. 

He entered, closed the door 
and climbed the stairs wearily. 
As he reached the top, he steadied 
himself and staggered along the 
hall. With his hand upon the 
doorknob, he paused, as if to 
free his mind from its burden 
before he entered what to him 
was a hallowed chamber. Noth- 
ing of evil or unkindness would 
he allow to enter this holy of 
holies, this room that was once 
his mother’s, for to him, his 
mother was a saint among women. 
Then too his Loran— the idol of 
his heart was sleeping there and 
he must not poison the sweet air 
that Loran was breathing, with 
53 


hatred and bitterness that had 
been burning all day within his 
own heart. He turned the knob 
softly, open the door, stepped 
into the room, threw his hat upon 
a chair & stepped to the window 
to breath, for the house was like 
a prison to him after the fragrant 
air of the garden. As he stood 
there he heard the deep regular 
breathing of the lad and his 
heart bounded with joy. 

“God bless you, boy,” he 
whispered, lest he might disturb 
the slumber which was so sweet. 
As he stood there, another form 
confronted him— the remembered 
one of his boyhood’s friend, 
George Castle. John Martin’s 
lips curled w'ith a sneering smile 
and before he thought, he hissed 
aloud: 


54 


“You, again!” 

The words rang sibilantly 
through the room and the sound 
made him start. He looked 
uneasily toward the sleeping boy 
fearing he would awake. But 
the hiss of his hate was louder 
to John Martin than it possibly 
could have been to any one else. 
It was the convincing power of 
conscious hatred that made him 
start and tremble with fear, as 
the vision of his boyhood’s friend 
stood before him with folded 
arms and smiled back upon him, 
maddening him until his soul 
w'as imbittered and writhed for 
vengeance— righteous vengeance, 
for he believed he was wholly 
right his enemy was wholly 
wrong. He threw back his head 
like a snake about to strike and 


55 


his black eyes burned like coals 
of fire, and a white froth oozed 
from his lips. 

“You, again! Curse No, 

no, not that,” checking himself 
in the midst of his fury, perhaps 
a bit unnatural, but it must be 
remembered there are many 
unnatural traits in some men. 
“Not that,” he whispered faintly 
“but would to God, the memory 
of your image would fade away 
from me forever!” He walked 
back and forth, but the image 
was ever before him. “Begone! 
Leave me until the final day 
of reckoning shall come, George 
Castle!” 

' With that, the apparition 
vanished as quickly as it came. 

He passed his hand over his 
eyes as if to shut out forever 


56 


the vision that had been so 
plainly before him more or less 
for more than twenty years. He 
groaned aloud and staggered 
tf»ward the bed & leaned heavily 
agaiest the old-fashioned high 
bedpost, than sank to his knees 
and placed his face against the 
hot cheek of the sleeping boy. 

“ Loran, my—” he whispered 
oh, so low, but he paused 
quickly and buried his face in 
the coverlets, weeping bitterly. 
His great form shook violently 
with a tempest of tears. It was 
not the first time — John Martin 
had wept many, many times, but 
always alone. By and by, he 
arose and turned toward the 
lamp that was burning low on 
the stand near the bed. Some- 
thing gleaming in its uncertain 
57 


rays caught his gaze and he 
bent down to see what it was 
and saw the locket with the 
pictured face, & also the rosary. 
He knelt and gathered the beads 
and the cross in his trembling 
fingers and pressed them to his 
lips. 

“Master, teach me to be 
gentle, too.” 

This was John Martin’s first 
prayer, in many years. 

How long he knelt there, he 
did not know, but when he 
raised his head and replaced the 
rosary upon the stand he looked 
with wonder and amazement into 
the pictured face incased in the 
tiny locket before him — the 
beautiful face that smiled back 
at him as she used to do in the 
long years dead and gone. It 
58 


seemed strange that be had not 
noticed it before, but the rosary 
alone had drew his attention. 
He turned the light a little 
higher that he might see it more 
plainly, and the beauty that 
was revealed to him was the 
beauty of the girl he had wooed 
and won and secretly married in 
the long ago. 

“Rosa!” 

He saw again, a green 
secluded meadow with a silver 
brook winding through it; a 
maiden standing kneedeep among 
the buttercups waving gently in 
the summer breeze; again he 
heard the crickets piping in the 
grass of that fair meadow as 
he had heard them an hour 
before, by the garden-gate. 

He would have pressed the 


59 


locket to his lips, hut Loran 
turned uneasily in his sleep, and 
the movement brought him to 
himself. He arose and tossed 
the locket upon the table after 
snapping it shut in fingers that 
twitched nervously. He once 
more looked upon the sleeping 
lad, then put out the light and 
lay down beside him and was 
soon fast asleep. But his sleep 
was broken with a haunting 
dream of Rosa Levering and 
George Castle, Rosen ond Merritt 
and others that had been con- 
nected with him in social life 
in the long ago, and now and 
then he would awake to turn 
& toss wearily upon his pillow. 

“O, God, how long, how 
long!” he muttered as the faint 
rays of the dawn grew pink 
60 


and gray in the east and the 
birds began to wake from their 
slumber in the trees and the 
vines about the little dwelling. 


61 


IV 

THE HOUSE OF THE 
“SINGING BOTTLE” 

jy^EADIS, come here. Your 
eyes are better than mine. 
Look down the road through the 
trees and tell me, ’aint that 
someone cornin’ up the hill?” 

“Yes, grandma,” said the girl 
shading her eyes, “it is an old 
man with a heavy beard and he 
is leaning on a stick. Shall I 
draw a pail of water from the 
well?” 

“Yes, Meadis, for he will be 
thirsty and we must have him 
stop here and rest.” 

Meadis and her grandma lived 
in the old house on the hill 
known as the house of the 
“Singing Bottle.” It was a 
62 


small old-fashionod farmhouse 
and at one time had been painted 
red, but many years of rain and 
snow and wind and sun had beat 
upon it with maddening fury & 
shone upon it fiercely until it 
had been washed and bleached 
of all but a few patches of paint 
where the clapboards had been , 
the roughest. The chimney was 
well preserved being a large 
square one built to stand the 
storms and tempests of the years. 
The house was almost hidden 
with lilac bushes that grew on 
every side and shut out every 
bit of sunshine, and in their 
season were a mass of purple 
blossoms. The house set back a 
little from the road, and three 
or four maples afforded a most 
splendid shade from the burning 
63 


sun on a hot summer day. At 
the north of the house was an 
old-fashioned well-sweep which 
drew up the coldest water that 
could be found anywhere at the 
Corners. 

The house was supposed to be 
haunted, but just why, nobody 
seemed to know. The last person 
who lived there before Grandma 
Bartlett, was a Mrs. Dorge, a 
kind-hearted soul, who surely, 
could have had no reason for 
returning from the spirit land 
to disturb those who purchased 
her humble dwelling and who 
were living a simple and honest 
life. Like the Good Samaritan, 
Grandma Bartlett was deeply 
interested in the pilgrims who 
passed by on their wearisome 
journey over the hot dusty road 
64 


that went zigzagging over the 
steep frowning hills of that 
rolling country. 

She was not afraid of any of 
God’s children, or any of the 
Devil’s either, and purchased the 
place “for a song’’ moving there 
in spite of the rumors circulated 
about the “haunts ” Her brother 
in Laconia had died leaving her 
a small insurance, of between 
seven and eight hundred dollars 
after his burial expenses were 
paid, and with this sum she had 
been able to buy the place. 

“If it is an evil house, it 
should be converted, for surely, 
God never intended such a 
beautiful place to be inhabited 
by the Devil and so close to the 
highway where so many people 
pass during the year,’’ she said 


6o 


to Meadis, her pretty gran- 
daughter who had come to live 
with her when her mother eloped 
with a circus-man who had come 
to the Corners when Meadis was 
barely five years old. She was 
now seventeen, pretty as a 
princess, & innocent & charming. 
“ We will make it a haven of 
rest, Meadis, and since we are 
not able to do very much in 
givin’ to the church here at the 
Corners, we will serve the Master 
by helpin’ those who are less 
fortunate than ourselves, and if 
we do the best we can, I am 
sure we will not lose a blessin’ 
or the “well done, good and 
faithful servants; enter into the 
joys of thy Lord,’* said Grandma 
as she removed her glasses and 
wiped them carefully. 

66 


On cleaning the attic, one 
windy day in the spring of the 
year, she was startled by a 
piercing scream that appeared to 
come from under the eaves 
where the main part of the house 
joined the ell. After removing 
the barrels & boxes that cluttered 
that corner of the attic Grandma 
discovered what had been fright- 
ening the folks at the Corners 
and for miles around. 

In the corner where the ell 
joined the main house, a clap- 
board had been torn away 
by the storms of many years, 
revealing a knothole in the 
rough boards about the size of 
a walnut, and in direct line 
with this knothole, a bottle had 
tipped over in such a way that 
every gust of wind from the 
67 


north or north-east entered it 
and made a dreadful unearthly- 
sound; in the night, the blood- 
curdling wail could not fail to 
make the bravest heart quail 
with fear, even though he under- 
stood the cause. There were a 
great many bottles stored in this 
particular corner, but the one 
that had attained the dignity of 
a ghost, and had conferred such 
an evil reputation on the old 
dwelling was a tall, slim, square 
shaped green bottle known as 
the “ Singing Bottle” on account 
of the musical sounds that come 
from it whenever the wind is 
high and it is in a drafty place. 
It is a well known fact 
that this particular kind of a 
bottle has been the cause of more 
haunted houses than any other 
68 


one object. 

Lawyer Esden & several others 
of the political-ring at the 
Corners had been “sore” when 
they learned the explanation of 
the “haunt;” they knew that 
Grandma had bought the place 
for a “song” paying only about 
one third of its value, and when 
Grandma thought of this, and 
how they would feel, she sat 
down on an old trunk & laughed 
until she cried. 

“It serves them right,” she 
said aloud, “for bein’ such a 
lot of ’fraid cats, but I wouldn’t 
be scared again like that for a 
farm down south.” 

It was the talk and laugh of 
the town, and to this day, it is 
called & known of as the house 
of the “Singing Bottle.” 


G9 


Wheu the stranger had reached 
the /house Grandma was at the 
gate to greet him with “Good- 
morning, sir, won’t you come in 
and rest awhile here in the 
shade? Meadis has gone to the 
well for nice cold water and she 
will be hero with it directly.’’ 

“Thank you, Mrs Bartlett, I 
will gladly accept your kind 
invitation, as it is with you, I 
am here on business, this most 
glorious morning.’’ 

“What! On business with 
me?” replied the old lady in 
surprise. 

“Yes, I am not well, and I 
have come up here to New 
Hampshire from the city for my 
health. 1 was told at the village 
that maybe I could secure board 
and lodging with you and your 
70 


graiidaug liter. I wish to be 
where it is quiet, and this is just 
the sort of a place 1 have been 
looking for. All I ask is plain 
simple food and plenty of fresh 
air, sunshine, and good drinking- 
water.” 

By this time, Meadis had 
returned from the well with a 
pitcher of water and a tumbler. 

‘‘Good morning, dear,” said 
the stranger. 

‘‘Good morning, sir,” replied 
the girl bluslung as she poured 
out the cool cr^ stal water of 
which the stranger drank long 
and deep. 

‘‘It is the wine of life,” he 
said half to himself, as he drank. 

Meantime, Grandma stood in 
deep thought, wondering perhaps 
what was best for her to do 


71 


about taking in this stranger. 
He arose and began to look 
about him & view the surround- 
ing country that spread so 
enchantingly before him. But 
after a few moments he began 
to fear that she might not take 
him & he began to be disturbed. 

A new thought struck him 
and he turned once more to her. 

“Mrs. Bartlett, if you will 
board me, I will pay you 
seven dollars a week and you 
shall have the money in advance, 
too.” 

“Seven dollars a week!” said 
Grandma in surprise, “why, sir, 
we couldn’t think of takin* seven 
dollars a week for the board 
we would have to set before you 
here at our simple home. Meadis 
and I live alone, and we live 


simple, yet we have good whole- 
some food and plenty of it. We 
keep hens and have a pig to kill 
every fall and another in the 
spring, so we have all the pork 
and hams we want, and duriu’ 
the summer we almost live out 
of the garden, as we have all 
kind of vegetables in abundance 
and plenty of fruit— apples, pears 
grapes and plums, & the pastures 
are full of berries. But we don’t 
have any of the extra things 
you are used to in the city, 
and—” 

“ Why, my dear Mrs. Bartlett,” 
interrupted the stranger, “all 
these good things you mention 
come from the country and we 
don’t get them until after they 
have been picked and handled 
over and over a dozen times and 


7a 


are far from beiii;^ fresh. You 
good country people misunder- 
stand us city folks. It is you, 
who are living on the cream of 
the earth, and we city folks are 
paying high prices for the scum 
or left-overs. You people have 
the best of the land.” 

‘‘Yes, I suppose so,” replied 
Grandma, ‘‘but I meant, that 
Meadis and I would not be able 
to serve you avS you have been 
used to bein’ served in the city. 
We don’t have any of the fixin’s, 
you know. We don’t know what 
beefsteak and such things are. 
Wine, ice cream, chocolate cake 
and puddin’ and the like of that 
are not for the poor.” 

‘‘Why, bless your heart, Mrs. 
Bartlett, that is what I am 
trying to escape from! Serve me 
74 


with the good things you tell 
me you have and I shall be 
more than satisfied.” 

“What do you say, Meadisr” 
said Grandma, turning to the 
girl at her side. 

The stranger looked longingly 
at her. He looked so pale and 
weary, something aroused pity 
in her heart. 

“Let him stay, grandma,” she 
whispered. 

“God bless you, child,” he 
^said. 

“But it will mean more hard 
work. Mead is.” 

“I don’t mind, grandma.” 

So it was decided he should 
come to live with them at the old 
house of the “Singing Bottle” 
the next day, and he went back 
down the hill after having an 


16 


abundant old-fashioned dinner 
with them, his heart leaping & 
bounding with joy, and a song 
of thanksgiving in his soul. 

“Surely, God is good,” he 
whispered. 

The next day he returned, bag 
and baggage & was soon settled 
in a large square room on the 
upper floor where he could look 
down into the village and across 
the broad fields of growing 
things. 

Once alone in his room he 
laughed aloud. 

“After twenty years I have 
come back to my old home 
town, and like Eip Van Winkle, 
nobody knows me — not even my 
boyhood’s chum, John Martin.” 
He paused a moment with bowed 
76 


head as though in prayer. A 
force of habit that had come 
upon him with the years of 
solitude and loneliness. But the 
mood soon left him and he went 
to the old-fashioned bureau and 
looked at himself in the mirror. 
“Nobody knows me, and I don’t 
wonder, nevertheless it is no one 
but you, George Castle. You 
have been as one dead to them 
all these years and you must 
keep it up,’’ he said to himself, 
never dreaming that there would 
and must, come a day when 
they would learn the truth. He 
removed his disguise— a gray 
beard and wig, bathed his face 
and hands and sat down in a 
low rocker near the window, 
being eareful not to get near 
enough to the panes for anyone 


to see him from the road. He 
sat there with his hands in his 
pockets and began to dream, for 
he too, had grown to live in the 
past. 

He rocked slowly back and 
forth fumbling with his watch 
chain nervously. He was built 
something like John Martin, fair 
of face, save for the deep lines 
under his eyes that told plainly 
of some harrowing trouble 
brought on by the years. 

Handsome, yes, George Castle 
was a handsome man, & unlike 
John Martin, he had never been 
in the power or range of Cupid’s 
silver darts, but had lived out 
his days alone, but he had 
learned like the rest of us, what 
is means to have sinned and 
suffer. 


78 


“So John Martin is still in 
the land of the living. He must 
never know of my return. I 
wonder who this boy Loran is? 
Can it be — “ he stopped short 
as if in deadly fear lest someone 
might overhear him, for he had 
the very bad habit of talking to 
himself. “It will be well perhaps 
not to mention names here at 
the Corners, but I must find out 
who this boy is. I will, do it ! 
I can do it, for money will do 
anything, that is, if you only 
have enough of it. No I am 
mistaken,” he said thoughtfully 
to himself as he brushed aside a 
tear that was about to drop from 
his thin, pale cheek where it had 
lingered for a moment until it 
was swelled by another that 
slowly flowed from his dark eyes. 
79 


“If money could do anything, 
I would give every penny of my 
fortune to buy back my friend- 
ship with John Martin. O, God, 
how I have suffered these long 
years. How I have craved for 
the companion of my boyhood 
days. Can there be any Hell 
worse than the conciousness of 
knowing that all humanity has 
lost respect and faith in you? 
To know that I cannot return 
to my old home-town and look 
these honest people in the face 
and receive their warm hand- 
clasp of welcome? That I must 
live down this lie forever perhaps 
with no hope of pardon, forgive- 
ness and love? O, God of mercy 
have pity on this sinner of 
sinners, George Castle, & teach 
him to atone!” 


80 


He buried his face in his 
hands for the tears came faster 
and faster, and it is a sight 
from which angels turn when a 
strong man weeps. Leaning 
forward he rested his elbows on 
his knees and wept in silence. 
By and by, he arose, once more 
bathed his face and went to the 
window where he stood & began 
to think and to plan to live 
down to the very end the 
mistake of his misguided youth, 
the one false step that had set 
its abhorrent seal upon his soul. 


81 


V 

ROSEMOND’S LOVE 


JN a little far-off town in 
northern Pennsylvania, Rose- 
.mond Merritt lived a quiet life 
with her only aunt Mrs. Burns. 
Rosemond’s rippling: tresses were 
lightly silvered with the snows 
of winter, but the roses of youth 
and summer still bloomed on her 
fair, smooth cheeks. Tall, of 
Junoesque proportions & queenly 
carriage, graceful and attractive 
in beauty and manner, she would 
have graced a palace, & seemed 
as much out of place in the 
village school where she taught 
as an orchid in a cabbage patch. 
She was also a teacher in the 
Sunday School, a devout and 
untiring worker in the church, 


82 


and a ministering angel to the 
old, the sick, the poor, and the 
“shut-in.” 

I first introduce my reader to 
her on a Sunday morning when 
she is gathering liowers to carry 
to two or three invalids in the 
little village. While she has been 
carefully arranging the flowers 
in a wicker basket her aunt who 
has been watching her closely 
for some minutes, speaks. 

“Rosemond. my dear, you are 
always thinking of others, with 
never a thought for yourself. 
My dear, do you realize what 
day this is?” 

“ Why, yes, auntie, it is Sunday 
but pray, there cannot be any 
harm in carrying flowers to the 
sick,” she replied wonderingly 
as she paused in her work. 


83 


“I didn’t mean that, Rosemond. 
Think again.” 

Rosemond turned and faced 
her in surprise. The two stood 
looking at each other. Rosemond 
was the first to speak. Her dark 
eyes snapped fitfully and her 
lips quivered a little, for she 
felt that she could guess what 
was coming, but she hoped she 
might be mistaken. 

“Why, auntie, what do you 
mean ?” 

Her aunt smiled.- 

“Rosemond, it is your birth- 
day. You are forty years old 
today.” 

“Auntie, the idea of you tell- 
niy age right out like that,” she 
said blushing & a little perplexed 
at her aunt’s unusual freedom 
of speech. 


84 


The fair feminine sex have 
always had the praise and glory 
of being the bravest when it 
comes to the testing-hour of the 
hard and enduring things of life, 
but there are a few things they 
find it difficult to bear, especially 
when their age is mentioned. 
The man laughs and wonders 
why. 

“Rosemond, why will you 
waste the best part of your life? 
You can never be young but 
once. God has spared you any 
great trouble and He has kept 
you young and beautiful because 
you have been good and kind to 
PI is children, and He has been 
rewarding you with more bless- 
ings than perhaps you have 
really considered & really been 
thankful for. No, you cannot 
85 


always be young, my dear, and 
I cannot always be with you. 
There is a parting time that 
must come to us all.” 

Kosemond understood what her 
aunt meant and it vexed her. 
She tried to be forbearing, but 
there are times when flesh and 
blood rebels, and for a moment, 
lost control of the temper she 
usually governed so well. 

“ Auntie, do you want to get 
rid of me, do you want to marry 
me off?” she questioned the 
crimson rising to her temples 
and her bright eyes snapping 
stormily as she looked up from 
her flowers. 

“Oh-no-! Not—” 

“If you wish to get rid of 
me — ” 

“Rosemond,” said Mrs Burns 


86 


impatiently, “will you please 
wait until I have finished? I 
don’t want to get rid of you — 
I don’t want you to go away! 
I had not thought of such a 
thing — nonsense. You are all I 
have in the world to love and 
care for <fe I want you to be 
happy, but I know that you 
are not. You are always dream- 
ing and waiting for that good- 
for-nothing, John Martin, who 
already has a wife and child, & 
yes, perhaps three or four of 
them, for all you know. Now 
there is Milton Ashbury who is 
handsome, wealthy, and honest 
as the day is long, — he is just 
dying for you to become his 
wife. He can give you a fine 
home, an automobile, a maid, 
and servants, and in fact, every- 
87 


thing your heart can wish and 
crave, and you won’t so much 
as notice him more than to say 
“how-do-you-do” or something 
like that. Now it seems to me 
that if I were young like — ” 

“Don’t, auntie, don’t,” said 
Rosemond with a wave of her 
hand. 

“ Why — now don’t be foolish 
Rosemond.” 

“ Aunt Hannah, I shall never 
marry Milton Ashbury, and I 
shall not give him the slightest 
encouragement. He is nothing 
to me — never was, and never can 
b«. That is final. He may be 
all you say, and be able to give 
me all you say, and I am sure 
you mean well, auntie, but you 
don’t understand — you cannot! 
I cannot marry anyone.” 


8S 


“Huh,” added her aunt with 
a smile that struck like a knife 
at Rosamond’s heart and aroused 
the embers of love that sweetly 
slumbered there. 

“As for John Martin, I believe 
in him. I believe he is true, and 
though he could not explain the 
reason he asked me to wait, he 
told me that he loved me and 
would one day come or send for 
me. Because of this, aunt 
Hannah, I shall wait and hope. 
He shall find me true. He shall 
know that I have loved him all 
these years. I will wait for him, 
but I will not break my heart 
in doing so. I will wait in 
patience and live and help others 
to live, and I will be happy. 
God is good, yes, He is good 
and He blesses me every day 
89 


and blessaa me far more than I 
deserve, and I shall not rebel, 
even though all the devils that 
haunt the garden of Gethsemane 
are set free to ridicule & torment 
me! Aunt Hannah I shall wait 
for John Martin.” 

She smiled sweetly for her 
heart still leaped with love and 
was filled with the happy dreams 
of her lover of the years that 
had passed oh, so swiftly as the 
years do. She had been patient, 
had kept a stout heart and a 
hopeful spirit, and had retained 
all her girlish beauty and grace. 

Aunt Hannah shrugged her 
shoulders as she wiped her steel- 
bowed spectacles. She too, had 
loved and waited, but not so 
patiently and with not so much 
faith and hope as her neice. She 


90 


had been married three times & 
was still a widow, 

“ Rosemond, don’t you think 
you are a little too quixotic? I 
do not wish to stand between 
you and your lover dear, but 
you must-be reasonable. Stop a 
moment and think the matter 
over, and you will see how 
foolish and blindly you have 
been lead all these years as a 
child with its heart filled with 
myths and fairy stories. You 
must remember that at the age 
of sixteen or eighteen and even 
twenty, people say and do a 
great many things that when 
they have had years of experience 
behind them, they are prone to 
forget or if remembered at all 
to ridicule. Things regarded 
as of the gravest importance at 
91 


twenty seem absured & impossible 
at forty. Has it never occured 
to you that perhaps John Martin 
has long ago forgotten you, and 
may not be able now to recall 
the name of the girl he courted 
twenty years ago or more in 
Johnstown? Have you never 
thought of this? Don’t be foolish 
Rosemond and throw your life 
away.” 

Rosemond’s lips quivered a 
little and for a moment her heart 
grew faint and homesick. 

“Don’t, aunt Hannah, don’t! 
For God’s sake let me at least 
cherish the sweetest dream I 
ever had,” she cried as she 
turned away from her flowers, 
radiant with beauty and glorified 
with the morning sunbeams and 
sparkling with the dew-jewels 
92 


from the purple casket of the 
tranquil night. 

Her aunt went to her and 
slipped her arm lightly about 
her waist. 

“Forgive me dearie if I seemed 
unkind. I didn’t mean to be, and 
perhaps I should not have 
meddled with your treasured 
affairs, but I’m sorry. Go on 
loving your lover and believing 
in him. Aunt Hannah will 
never chide you again,’’ 

Rosemond turned and took 
the little old lady in her arms and 
kissed the faded wrinkled face 
and wiped away the tears with 
her own handkerchief. 

“Auntie,” she said smiling 
through her own tears “we will 
live and be happy together, you 
and I.” 


93 


“ Eosemond, we will gather the 
roses while we may for God 
intends for all His children to 
be happy. All the grief that 
comes into our lives is brought 
through our own planning or 
those who are connected with 
us. It is hard sometimes to 
understand this and see it in 
just this light, but if we are 
careful and search our lives 
diligently, I am sure we will 
see what has caused all the 
trouble that brought us sorrow.” 

‘‘Yes, auntie, but what have I 
ever done that I should be made 
to suffer twenty years or more?” 

‘‘Eosemond, you are connected 
with another who has sinned. 
Will you forgive me if I speak 
plainly?” 

‘‘Yes.” 


94 


**John Martin has sinned, and 
you sanction his sin while you 
cling to him.” 

‘‘Yes, auntie, you are right, 
I understand.” 

She stood there in deep thought 
holding the flowers she had 
gathered. 

Her aunt touched her lightly 
on the arm. 

‘‘You had better be going out 
with the flowers , you have 
gathered for Mrs. Dexter and 
the other poor souls, Kosemond, 
for it will soon be time to go to 
meeting, the first bell has already 
rung ” 

‘‘Yes,” said Rosemond as she 
took the basket on her arm and 
went down through the garden 
stopping at the gate long enough 
to wave a “good-bye.” 


95 


Ouce on her way and alone, 
she paused in the shade of a 
stately maple and drew from 
her bosom a small miniature case 
which she opened and looked 
long and lovingly upon a pictur- 
ed face — a small tintype of a 
handsome young man. She smiled 
and held it to her lips. 

“John,” she whispered. 

O, how often Rosemond had 
sat in the twilight and looked 
upon that picture, the shadow 
of her heart’s mate. She 
wondered how he would look 
after a lapse of twenty years 
or more. She wondered if God 
had spared him changes that 
come to one and all who carry 
the burden of a heavy cross. 
She wondered too if he were 
thinking of her, this very 
96 


minute, and was waiting as 
patiently for her as she was 
waiting for him. 

It was her first love and she was 
faithful. Yes, Rosemond Merritt 
loved John Martin and she found 
happiness in her great love and 
faithfulness in waiting for him, 
though at times she was greatly 
disturbed, for aunt Hannah was 
often harsh and upbraiding, and 
yet she did not intend to be, 
but there are moments when 
things seem to go wholly wrong 
and we crave a desire to heap 
the heaviest part of our troubles 
upon our friends and those who 
are near and dear to us, and 
aunt Hannah was of this sort of 
nature. Yet too, she was kind 
and was glad to have her neice 
with her. 


97 


That afternoon when Rosemond 
was on her way home from 
Sunday School, she heard a 
quick step, and turning, looked 
into the face of Milton Ashbury. 

“Good afternoon, Rosemond. 
May I walk home with you?” 

“Yes, if you wish,” she replied 
pleasantly. 

“Rosemond, I am going to 
Alaska.” 

“Alaska!” she said looking 
at him in surprise. 

“Yes,” he added, waiting a 
moment as if to see what com- 
ment she would make or how 
she would feel about his long 
absence. 

“My, but I had not heard of 
it.” 

“No?” he questioned. 

“No, indeed.” 


98 


“It was a trip hastily planned, 
or rather made known to me. You 
see, father has business up there 
in the gold-fields and as I have 
always wanted to go there, and 
he is not well, he decided to send 
me in his place. Of course I am 
delighted to go, and yet I hate 
to be away from home. You see 
it will be the first time 1 have 
ever been away for so long a 
time.” 

“ Why, will you be gone very 
long?” she inquired. 

“Three or four months, at 
least. Why?” 

“ What does your mother say?” 

“ Mother don’t want me to 
go, but you know how it is, 
mothers are always that way. 
They want to keep the children 
at home always.” 


99 


Rosemond’s mind went roam- 
ing back through the vanished 
years when she had been of the 
same opinion, and now that her 
own mother was gone, Milton’s 
careless words came back to her, 
and she saw a lonely, neglected 
grave on a distant hill. 

O, God, what heart has not 
felt that same thrill of utter 
loneliness when it has heard the 
sacred name of Mother lightly 
spoken ! 

“Yes,” said Rosemond thought- 
fully. She knew he had spoken 
from an untried heart and 
so far in life, had been spared 
at least, that one great sorrow. 
“God bless the mothers.” 

“O, yes,” acquiesced Milton, 
“mother is all right, but you 
see what I mean, Rosemond, 
100 


when a fellow has grown up 
and is in business he cannot 
always be tied to his mother’s 
apron strings, can he?” 

“I suppose not, but Milton 
remember this: Do not let your 
business rob you of affection, for 
as surely as you live, sometime 
in the days to come, you will 
regret it.” 

“Another sermon?” he laugh- 
ingly inquired. 

“No, it is not a sermon, and 
since you can only look upon it 
lightly, I will say no more, but 
when a mother is gone there is 
no one that can fill her place.” 

“No?” 

“No, Mr. Ashbury, no one 
can. My mother died when I 
was approaching womanhood, 
but she is still my mother and 
101 


she is all the world to me, and 
now that she is gone, I think 
how little I showed appreciation 
of all the sacrifices & self-denials 
she made for me, and now, it is 
too late to speak the words of love 
or tell her that I am sorry. Still 
she is my mother. 1 have her 
picture here in a small miniature 
case that I carry always.” 

”0, please let me see it, 
Rosemond?” 

She blushed, as she thought of 
the pictured face opposite the 
one of her angel mother, and 
she hesitated to let him see it, 
but what could she do, after 
her statement, for if she should 
refuse, he might think she was 
talking for effect & had spoken a 
falsehood. Biting her lip, she 
took out once more the well-worn 


102 


case and opened it. 

Milton Aslibury looked upon 
the sweet girlish face and then 
at the other beside her. 

“A pretty face,” he said, “and 
this one — your brother?” 

“No. I never had a brother. 
It is— it is a friend.” 

He understood. 

“O, Rosemoiid, don’t tell me 
I am too late!” he said ernestly. 

“Too late,” she said trembling 
a little. “Mr. Ashbury, I do 
not understand you.” 

“Rosemond, yes you do, you 
must!” 

She was silent and so was he 
until they had reached the gate 
of her aunt’s humble home. He 
opened it for her to enter and 
she passed through and turned 
to say good-bye. 

103 


“Wait, Rosemond, a moment.” 

She bent down and gathered 
a spray of mignonette. 

“All these past fifteen years 
you have been here at your 
aunt Hannah’s, we have known 
each other & I have loved you. I 
have wanted to tell you so many 
times, but I did not know just 
how to do it, but today, the day 
before I am to leave for my 
long trip, I decided to tell you. 
Is there no hope?” 

“No, Mr. Ashbury.” 

He hesitated, his face darkly 
flushed with emotion. 

“ But may I write to you while 
I am away?” 

“Why, yes, if you want to.” 

“And will you answer my 
letters?” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

104 


He took her hand and held it 
for a moment and when he 
released it, he took the spray of 
mignonette she had plucked 
from her garden. 

She reached for it. 

“No, Rosemond. not until we 
meet again. Good-bye." 

She did not have time to speak 
for the next moment he was gone. 

She stood at the gate and 
watched him out of sight. She 
knew something of how he felt 
and she pitied him, and almost 
wished she had showed the 
pictures to him before. She 
turned and went into the house 
and to her own room. With the 
door closed and locked she went 
to the window and sat down on 
the window-seat, to think over 
the past conversation. 

105 


“What have I done? Have I 
given him a moment’s encourage- 
ment? Well, I never intended to, 
and when he writes to me, I 
will answer his letter and tell 
him the whole truth and that 
he must never expect me to 
marry him.*’ 

Her aunt rapped on the door 
softly. 

“Yes, auntie.’* 

“Dinner is ready. Come down 
and eat and than we will take 
a little walk along the river 
road.’’ 

“Yes, auntie, I will be down 
in a moment.’’ 

She waited until her aunt’s 
footsteps had died away, then 
she once more took out the 
little miniature case and looked 
upon the face of her lover. 

106 


“John, John, they tell me 
love is stronger than death. O, 
if this can be true, why don’t 
you come to me ? I do not 
doubt you— I cannot. My heart 
tells me that you are mine, as I 
am yours, and if love is so 
powerful, can it not bring us 
together once again?” 

She looked out of the window. 
It was a perfect day and the 
blooming garden seemed to 
exhale a healing balm that 
penetrated to the depths of her 
soul. She bathed her face and 
went down stairs with a smile 
upon her scarlet lips. 

“I will wait,” she said softly 
to herself. 


107 


VI 

MEADIS’ OATH 


Q_OOD morning, Meadis,*’ said 
George Castle, or rather 
John Smith, as we are to know 
him at present. 


“Good-morning, “ she replied 
as she met him at the door. She 
was on her way to the store for 
her grandmother. Mrs. Bartlett 
always believed in doing all one 
could as early as possible in the 
morning before it was too hot. 
She was always up before the 
sun and had the most of the 
work done before breakfast. 
She never believed in letting 
the sun get up before her. 
“There are many duties to be 
preformed every day & I believe 
one should mix a certain amount 


108 


of pleasures with our work and 
it can’t be done when one spends 
the best part of the day in bed.” 

** Seems to me, you are making 
a rather early start to do your 
shopping.” 

“Yes, sir, grandma believes 
in keeping out of the hot sun 
as much as possible, so we always 
do our marketing before break- 
fast,” said Mead is with a smile. 

“A very good idea, a very 
good idea, & if you don’t mind 
I will walk along with you.” 

“I would be pleased to have 
you, Mr. Smith, if you want to 
come along,” said Meadis a 
little vexed, for she had hopes 
of meeting Loran on his way to 
the mill, as he usually made 
the trip there before breakfast 
so he could feed the horses and 


109 


get ready for his day’s work. 
Though decidedly put out she 
concealed her disappointments 
with a pretense at cheerfulness. 
She felt the color mounting to 
her cheeks and was afraid his 
sharp old eyes might notice it, 
but if he did, he would think 
it due to her modesty, as he had 
already remarked her timidity. 

It was a beautful June morn- 
ing and the air was sweet with 
all the countless perfumes of an 
early summer day. There had 
been a light shower during the 
night and all Nature was cool 
and refreshing after its crystal 
bath. 

At the foot of the hill they 
met Loran, and from his evident 
disgust at finding her with a 
companion, Meadis knew he 
110 


desired to speak with her alone, 
so excusing herself politely, she 
stepped to the side of the road 
where he was. 

John Smith recognized the lad 
with a faint smile and a cordial 
“good morning.” Loran respond- 
ed as he removed his hat. 

For a moment the two stood 
stareing at each other, but it 
was so momentary Meadis did 
not notice it. 

John Smith turned to her with 
a smile. 

“Let me take your basket, 
Meadis,” he said, “and I will 
leave it at the store and you 
can get it later.” 

“I am afraid it will be too 
much bother, Mr. Smith.” 

“Not at all, child,” he replied 
as he took it from her arm. 


Ill 


“Thank you.” 

She watched him as he walked 
away. She was now, trying to 
vex Loran a bit, for she paid 
little attention to what he was 
saying. 

“Well!” 

“Sir?” she returned with a 
laugh as she faced him. 

“Say, Meadis, who is he? He 
looks like the man who stopped 
at our house the other night 
and inquired the way to Lawyer 
Esden’s office, of Uncle John.” 

“ He is our new boarder,” said 
Meadis with a toss of her head 
as she turned to watch him out 
of sight. 

“Boarder! Well, I don’t think 
taking in “boarders” should in 
any way make you so high 
and mighty,” said Loran with a 
112 


laugh. “Say, Meadis, who is he, 
anyhow? Where did he hail 
from?’’ 

“How should I know? Say, 
don’t be so inquisitive.’’ 

“But I am, Meadis, there is 
something about that man I 
don’t like. I don’t know just 
what it is, but say, Meadis, ’ain’t 
you had that sort of feeling 
yourself, before now'? Of course 
you have.’’ He was getting a 
little curious and she knew it, 
but it was not of the jealous 
nature of which Meadis was 
thinking. Loran remembered the 
old man and was curious to 
know what had brought him to 
the Corners. He had also noticed 
that the old gentleman was 
mighty inquisitive, & this might 
have aroused his curiosity. 


113 


“Getting a little jealous/’ 
she inquired coquettishly. 

“Nonsense, Meadis, but since 
you do not care to tell me about 
him, we will drop the subject. I 
wanted to speak with you — ’’ 
“Loran dear,” she interrupted 
“I didn’t mean to try and put 
you off. Really, there is nothing 
private about the affair. All 
I know about this man, is that 
his name is John Smith and 
that he came to our house night 
before last and wanted to get 
board for the Summer. He is an 
invalid and wished to get out of 
the city, so grandma and I 
decided to take him, and he is 
going to pay us seven dollars a 
week! Just think of in, Loran. 
Seven dollars a week — a dollar 
a day. It will help us wonder- 
114 


fully. Grandma says I can have 
a new dress and a wide-rim hat 
with red roses like the one we 
saw at The Weirs last summer. 
Won’t that be lovely, Loran 
dear? Aren’t you glad for me? 
And he is such a nice old man, 
too, and not so dreadfully old 
either. And he helps us lots 
’round the house. And Loran, 
there is something sad— some- 
thing pathetic about him that 
almost makes me cry. What it is 
I don’t know. At times, he 
seems to be awful “blue” and 
deep lines under his eyes speak 
of some great trouble and last 
night grandma and I heard him 
talking to himself. We could 
not understand anything and we 
did not try. Grandma made me 
play hymns on the organ for 


115 


more than an hour. ‘ If he 
wanted us to hear him’ said she, 
‘he wouldn’t be up there and I 
never brought you up to be an 
eavesdropper. If you’ve nothing 
else to do than to be listening 
to what is not intended for you 
to hear, you can go to the 
organ and play hymns for 
a- while, then perhaps you will 
be doing someone some good.’ 
But I wish I knew what it is 
that seem to trouble him, for 
if we only knew, perhaps we 
could help him over the hard 
places, for you know grandma 
is wonderful in that respect. 
She is indeed a burden bearer.” 

“Yes,” said Loran, thought- 
fully “Grandma is a saint. She 
has been mother & grandmother 
both, to Uncle and myself.” 


116 


“Yes, Loran.” 

They both stood there for a 
moment in silent meditation. 

Meadis was the first to speak. 

“Loran, I have told you all I 
know about this man, John 
Smith.” 

“That’s all right, Meadis. 1 
do not doubt you and I was not 
inquisitive in the way that you 
thought, but it all seemed so 
strange, I couldn’t help from 
speaking about it as I did. 1 
am glad you and Grandma can 
be of service to him, and indeed 
he ought to be pleased to have 
a chance to spend the summer 
at such a cosy place as it is at 
the “singing bottle.” And now 
Meadis, I have a little surprise 
for you. There is to be an 
excursion on the lake next 
117 


Saturday and I want you to go 
with me. Now don’t say no, for 
I am not going to take ‘no’ for 
an answer,” he said as he took 
her two hands within his own. 

“But Loran,” she began. 

‘‘Now don’t come on with 
those old excuses again, Meadis, 
for they are stale and out of 
date, and as Father Rodney says, 
‘If there’s to be excuses, give us 
a few new ones,’” he said with 
a laugh. ‘‘If you don’t go with 
me this time, Meadis. I shall 
begin to think you don’t want 
to go anywhere with me.” 

‘‘Loran,” she replied lowering 
her pretty head, that he might 
not see the tears that were filling 
her eyes, ‘‘I have nothing to 
wear that would be pleasing for 
such an occasion.” 


118 


“Nothing to wear!” 

“Nothing but this old faded 
lilac gown,” she replied with 
the tears falling like jewels 
and running down her cheeks, 
as she was unable to control 
them any longer. 

“ Why, I — ” commenced Loran 
but she interrupted him. 

“Everywhere I go, folks say, 
‘ there goes Meadis Bartlett. 
Anyone could tell her a mile off. 
She always wears that old lilac 
dress.’ ” 

“I don’t care if they do, 
Meadis. You are just the same 
dear sweetheart to me, no matter 
what you wear. So remember, 
next Saturday, I shall come to 
the house for you, bright & early. 
You will go, won’t you, Meadis?” 
he coaxed as he drew her to 


119 


him aud kissed away the tears 
from her cheek. 

“I will talk it over with 
grandma and let you know 
tomorrow,” she said. 

“But you want to go?” he 
questioned. 

‘‘Yes, Loran.” 

*‘I knew you would. Now I 
will have to be going, for it is 
time I was at the stable. Good- 
bye.” 

‘‘Good-bye.” 

It was late Friday night when 
Meadis entered her room to 
retire. Grandma had gone to 
bed early, and seemingly, she 
was the only one in the house 
astir. As she placed the lamp 
upon the table, a low rap sounded 
on the panel. 


120 


“May I come in, Meadis?” 

“Yes,” she answered. 

The door opened softly, and 
in walked John Smith. 

In an instant, Meadis remem- 
bered Loran’s words of three 
days before. ‘There is something 
about that man I don’t like,’ and 
for a moment she feared him, 
though she did not outwardly 
show it. 

“It is rather late in the even- 
ing to call on a young lady and 
in her own room, too,” began 
Smith, “but it seemed to be 
about the only way I could see 
you alone, Meadis. You don’t 
mind do you?” 

“Not at all, Mr. Smith.” 

“Meadis, can I trust you with 
a secret?” he began, looking her 
straight in the eyes. “Don’t be 
121 


afraid, child, but I must have 
your assurance.” 

“Certainly.” 

“And I can trust you fully?” 

“Yes, Mr. Smith, you can 
trust me with anything ! I have 
been under the guidance of my 
saintly grandmother too long, to 
be insnared with dishonesty 
now !” 

“ Dishonesty !” 

He startled. The word struck 
at him like a blow, but he had 
become accustomed to it, and 
he forced a smile. 

“A modern Margaret and 
Faust,” he said to himself. 

She watched him closely. 

“I understand, Meadis, but 
that is a great trust, and you 
have seen so little of the wicked- 
ness that is in this world of ours. 

122 


Have you ever read Goethe’s 
‘Faust’ ?” 

“No, sir, grandma would not 
not let me read story books.” 

He laughed. 

“Why do you laugh, do you 
doubt me, Mr. Smith?” 

No, child — Meadis, we are 
kept in ignorance, and then we 
are punished if we make even 
so small a mistake.” 

“I do not understand you.” 

“No. You have been shielded. 
You do not know what it is to 
suffer for twenty years ” 

She went to him with pity in 
her innocent heart and placed 
her hand lightly upon his arm. 

Meadis was a good girl but 
she was very inquisitive, and 
this is often the cause of our 
downfall. We do not mean to 
123 


be inquisitive perhaps, but it is 
human nature to want to know, 
and when things are hidden 
from us, there is a stronger and 
deeper desire to know. 

“Mr. Smith, let me help you. 
You speak of a secret. I assure 
you, you can trust me with any- 
thing.” 

We talk of being insnared, 
and yet, we are the very ones 
ourselves, who set the snare. Man 
has always been his worse enemy. 
Meadis felt quiet sure she was 
about to enter the secret room 
of this stranger’s life, but she 
did not realize how little, she 
was going to learn. 

Again, the stranger smiled — 
and so did Faust. 

“Thank you, Meadis.” 

He stepped softly across the 


124 


room and took from her bureau 
a small Bible and confronted 
her. 

“Meadis, will you place your 
hand on this Holy book and 
repeat those words?” 

She did so. 

“Thank you,” he addpd with 
a sickly smile. “Now remember 
Meadis, you have taken a solemn 
oath. You have sworn solemnly.” 

“Yes, and you will find me 
firm as the hills,” she laughed, 
little dreaming how soon her 
mirth would be changed to 
dread and fear. 

He laughed too, but there was 
not so much mirth in it. She 
was innocent, but he knew he 
was working evil to get her into 
his power to do his bidding, so 
his, was not so pleasing. 


125 


“ That is the sort of a pard I 
want,” he said. 

‘‘A pard!” she repeated. 

‘‘Yes, you have joined hands 
with me, and I can trust you 
fully, now. Meadis Bartlett, you 
are a Christian and I know I 
can trust you. You will be my 
helper and I shall reward you 
splendidly if you are successful, 
and I feel you well be.” He 
took from his pocket a beautiful 
diamond ring. “See, Meadis! 
The day you can tell me who 
Loraii is and where he came 
from, this ring belongs to you. 
Do you understand me? All you 
will have to do, is to get Loran 
to tell you his past history.” 

“But he won’t,” she replied 
with a slight shrug of her pretty 
shoulders. 


126 


“Nonsense. A girl’s lover will 
do anything she wants him to, 
especially when he is as deeply 
in love as this young Loran is.” 

“Sir!” 

“I beg pardon, my dear, I 
did not mean to insinuate that 
your lover was a weakling, a 
simpleton, or anything like that, 
but you know a fellow is easily 
led by the girl he admires.” 

“Perhaps, but it is different 
with Loran. He has a mind of 
his own, besides, John Martin 
has been his lord and master 
altogether too long. I tell him 
he is a fool to stand it. I’d like 
to see anyone steer me around 
as he does Loran ! I believe 
young folks ought to have some 
rights. Don’t you, Mr. Smith?” 

“Certainly.” 


127 


He smiled again, as he stood 
there listening to her girlish 
complaints, for she too, was like 
a child in leading-strings. But 
she was so earnest in her fault- 
finding with another, she did 
not notice him. 

“How long has Loran been 
with John Martin?” 

“ I don’t know. Everyone says 
he came from the Orphans’ 
Home, and I presume he did, 
and if that is the case, there 
won’t be very much to find out, 
I’m afraid.” 

“That’s just what I want you 
to find out, Meadis. I may be 
altogether wrong, but I don’t 
believe Loran came from the 
Orphans’ Home and 1 am almost 
sure that Loran himself, knows 
better. But I want you to ferret 
128 


this out for me. Will you ?” 

Suddenly a look of fear came 
across the girl’s face. 

“ Who are you?” she said. 

“Never mind. You will know 
later. Remember your oath.” 

For a moment it seemed as 
though her heart had stopped, 
and she feared perhaps she had 
done some great wrong. 

For a moment he trembled 
and put his hand to his face to 
make sure that his disguise was 
secure and properly adjusted. 

“There, there, child, I am 
afraid I am frightening you.” 

“Please, Mr. Smith — ” 

“I am not asking any im- 
possibility, Meadis. All you 
have to do, is to find out who 
Loran is and where he came 
from.” 


129 


She watched him steadily and 
seemed to be in deep thought. 

“I should think you would 
want to know, Meadis. Pray, 
what harm could come from 
asking him that much?” 

‘‘And if I fail?” 

‘‘ Why, that will be all right. 
Only don’t mention this secret 
conversation.” 

“O, yes, I understaud.” 

‘‘And you will try?” 

“Yes.” 

“You will have a splendid 
opportunity tomorrow while on 
the excursion and’ I am almost 
sure you will be successful. You 
will try, Meadis?” 

“Yes, I’ll try, Mr. Smith.” 

“That settles it. Now remem- 
ber, Meadis, this is to be 
confidental. You are not to 
130 


mention one syllable to your 
grandmother, nor let her know 
that I have spoken to you in 
secret,” he said giving her a 
keen warning look. 

“Yes, sir, I understand.” 

“Good night, my dear.” 

“ Good night.” 

John Smith left the room 
wringing his hands & chuckling 
to himself. 

“She'll do it, she'll do it. I 
knew she would!” 


131 


VII 

THE “BEST ROOM” 


U'NCLE John, why do you 
keep the best room in the 
house closed inquired L( ran 
one day as he saw John Martin 
coming from the “best room" 
and locking the door carefully 
behind him. 

“Because we have all the 
room we can use and what’s the 
use of having the whole house 
cluttered upr" 

“But why should we close the 
best room in the house, the 
pleasantest one, and why keep 
it furnished in such style 
that we have to hire Grandma 
to tidy it up every Fall and 
Spring — cleaning and dusting it 
thoroughly when nobody ever 
132 


uses itr” 

**Loran, you ask altogether too 
many questions. You know the 
room was my mother’s sitting- 
room and contains all her things 
and that they have to be taken 
care of, yet you keep pestering 
me about it as though you 
thought it was a secret place 
where I worshiped some gilded 
god,” replied John Martin 
impatiently. 

“But why can’t we keep it in 
shape. Uncle John?” persisted 
Lor an. 

“Such work is woman’s work, 
and besides we have about all 
we can do, don’t we?” 

“Yes, and so does Grandma, 
and she’s lame.” 

“Loran, will you please stop 
teasing me? I have given you 
133 


the resBon for keeping the room 
closed. Isn’t that enough?” 

‘‘The reason?” replied Loran 
inquiringly, with trembling lips 
as he looked John Martin in the 
face. 

John Martin turned away. He 
could not stand the gaze of those 
honest eyes. Animal like, he felt 
like creeping into the dark. 
He felt the touch of a shadowy 
hand oh, so lightly upon his 
arm and he heard from lips 
that had long been silent in 
that sleep that knows no waking 
nor unrest, “John, our boy — our 
baby.” 

“Rosa,” he whispered with 
bowed head. The lash was upon 
his heart again, but he bore 
its stripes with set lips, and wept 
in silence. 


13i 


“Yes, Uncle John. I will 
not trouble you again about it,“ 
said Loran as he took his hat 
and went out into the garden. 
The flowers seemed to be glad 
of his' company and with every 
gentle breeze to coax him with 
their sweet perfume to . linger 
among them, but he had no eyes 
for their beauty. 

A thousand mischievous little 
elves of curiosity danced before 
him, every one pointing to the 
closed room and enticing him 
to find some way to enter it. 
He knew it contained some 
objects or object that his bene- 
factor concealed from him, and 
he had remarked many times 
that when John Martin visited 
the room he always emerged in 
the blackest mood. He knew he 


135 


was doing wrong to pry into 
his uncle’s secret but he was 
determined to see the carefully 
guarded room for himself. He 
felt that it might concern him- 
self in some way, else why did 
John Martin fly into a rage 
when questioned about it. 
Grandma Bartlett certainly saw 
the room and its contents when 
she swept and dusted and aired 
it twice a year, and Loran came 
to the conclusion that for some 
reason that must vitally concern 
himself, he was the only one 
who was denied the freedom of 
it. With the firm resolve to 
watch for a chance to enter the 
forbidden place and explore it, 
he arose with the air of a man 
who has decided on some 
momentous deed, and sauntered 
136 


through the garden-gate. 

“I’ll have a peep into the 
place anyway, if it costs me 
a leg,” he muttered angrily. 
“ Uncle John treats me as if I 
were a hoy and must be kept 
in ignorance of everything. I’m 
sick and tired of these stories 
about the Orphans’ Home, and 
my being the pet of a fool- 
hearted man. If uncle John’s 
hiding anything about me in 
that room, I have a right to 
know, and I’m going to, if not 
by fair means, then by foul.” 

He went to the little rustic 
summer-house and sat down to 
think the recent conversation 
over. 

It was not long before Loran 
had his chance. Business called 
John Martin to Lakeport, where 
137 


he would have to remain all 
day. As soon as Loran started 
for the mill, John Martin struck 
out across the fields for Lakeport. 
Martin did not tell Loran that 
he was going to be away for 
the day, because he knew what 
was in the boy’s mind and he 
did not care to tempt him. But 
Loran had seen the note which 
summoned him, for it had been 
carelessly left upon the table for 
a few minutes. 

Martin was no more than out 
of sight when Loran turned 
back. 

“Now is my chance to see 
what the “best-room” contains,” 
he said to himself as he unlocked 
the end-door and entered the 
house. Loran had always been 
a good boy and his conscience 
138 


troubled him a bit, but his 
curiosity was strouger than his 
scruples, and he argued there 
could be no harm, as he would 
not disturb anything. 

In an old box in the wood- 
shed, he remembered of having 
seen a bunch of discarded keys, 
and after trying them all, he 
found one that would unlock 
the door of the mysterious room. 
As the door swung slowly open, 
the stifling perfume of withered 
roses and lavender came to him 
like the haunting breath of a 
dead summer, and he entered 
the room as quietly as a mouse. 
Every sound, the creaking of a 
loose board, the whisper of 
branches in the gentle breeze 
outside, caused him to start and 
tremble as he advanced timidly 
139 


to the middle of the room where 
he paused and looked around in 
wonder and surprise to find 
nothing out of the ordinary 
such as he had expected to see 
in this strange room that had 
always been under lock and 
key. As he stood looking about 
him, his gaze chanced to stray 
to . the opposite wall and lo ! 
there hung three life-size port- 
raits in oil, evidently the work 
of a master of the brush, and 
that must have cost John Martin 
a considerable sum. One was 
John Martin himself, another 
was George Castle his boyhood 
companion, (though Loran did 
not know this,) but the third 
picture puzzled him most. 
Surely it was not his mother, 
and yet it was such a sweet 
140 


face that seemingly looked 
down upon him. Who could she 
be? He tried hard to think but 
he could not recall anyone he 
had ever seen that looked like 
her. It might have been John 
Martin’s mother when she was 
young, but why would he place 
it between a stranger’s face and 
his own? Loran looked long upon 
the woman’s face and studied 
its smiling, radiant features. 
How long he stood there he did 
not know, but he did not dare 
to tarry longer, for he was 
anxious to see more of this now 
interesting room, but the face 
before him was so fascinating it 
held him as if by a spell. He 
had always thought his mother 
was the most beautiful woman 
in the world, but here was 


another, fairer still. “Who can 
it be?” he asked himself, over 
and over as he stepped a little 
nearer. Once more he looked 
upon the picture of George 
Castle & he said aloud: “I have 
seen that face before— those 
eyes !” but he was so interested 
in the lovely woman’s face, he 
paid very little attention to 
either of the others. 

The room was full of quaint 
old mahogany furniture and 
bric-a-brac of a by-gone fashion. 
Things that were! eloquent of a 
woman’s occupancy were every- 
where but in perfect order and 
excellent taste. The chairs were 
upholstered in old-fashioned 
haircloth, but were splendidly 
preserved and as good as new. 
Lace curtains were at the three 


142 


windows which were screened 
by dark shades that made the 
room so dimly lit Loran had to 
raise them a little. Across one 
corner of the room was an old- 
fashioned square piano with a 
sheet of music on the rack still 
open as though someone had left 
it in haste. Loran stooped to 
read the title. It was “Then 
You’ll Eemember Me.’’ Again 
his fair face clouded. 

“Can it be that John Martin 
had another sweetheart?’’ 

But quickly he dismissed the 
thought. 

“No, I will not think that of 
Uncle John.’’ 

But on further examining the 
sheet of music, he discovered 
scribbled on the margin above 
the title, “Rosemond’s favorite 


143 


song,” and wondered who this 
Rosemond could be. His mother’s 
name was Rosa and perhaps 
John Martin had at one time 
been her lover and when she 
had married another, John 
Martin had turned misanthrope 
and lived alone all these years. 
Loran left the piano and went 
to a quaint old writing-desk but 
found is locked. In a vase on 
the mantle he discovered a key 
and found it fitted the lock. 

His heart thumped so loudly 
that he was almost afraid, but 
curiosity prompted him to make 
the most of his opportunity so 
he turned the key & tipped the 
lid back. He opened a drawer 
here and there until he came 
upon a packet of letters tied 
with a faded blue ribbon.' He 


144 


started to take them out, but 
his conscience interfered. 

“No, I will not! If Uncle 
John had wanted me to see them, 
he would have shown them to 
me long ago,” he said to him- 
self in an awed whisper. 

“But is it any worse than 
entering the room?” accused his 
troubled spirit. 

“No,” he answered with a 
faint smile. 

He turned & faced the pictured 
face of John Martin, and those 
eyes that had watched over him 
80 tenderly through all the 
years since he had been at the 
Martin homestead, seemed to 
change and the mute lips seemed 
to say in surprise & accusation: 

“ Loran!” 

It brought him to himself and 


145 


he felt the blush of shame mount 
slowly to his temples. For a mom- 
ent he looked into those eyes. 
He hurried from the room and 
locking the door leaned heavily 
against it, with the slow flush of 
shame stealing to the roots of 
his hair. 

“I have sinned, but I will sin 
no more,” he cried. 

“But the deceit you have 
practiced?” questioned his guilty 
conscience. 

“I will confess my disobed- 
ience and meanness,” 

“You dare not.” 

“I will! Uncle John loves 
me. He trusts me, and I will 
not betray that trust.” 

“But you have.” 

For a few minutes Loran 
stood there in deep though. He 
146 


was being severely chastened. 
By and by, the dawn of true 
repentance came and flooded his 
soul with its light of glory. 

“I will go to Father Rodney 
and make a full confession.” 

‘‘But that will not make it 
right between John Martin and 
yourself.” 

Loran quailed and the room 
seemed to echo with a taunting 
laugh that never issued from 
human lips, still, the light that 
had dawned upon his darkened 
soul did not forsake him, for he 
was determined. He looked about 
him, but no one was there. He 
fled into the garden. 

‘‘Dear Lord, what have I 
done?” he moaned. 

‘‘You have betrayed a great 
trust and John Martin will never 


147 


forgive you,” replied the accus- 
ing voice over his shoulder. 

‘‘Its a lie!” he said aloud. 

And he spoke the truth, for 
no one ever sincerely repented 
of deceit or hypocrisy or any 
evil act who was not forgiven. 
Not always by the injured one, 
but by his Maker. A true repent- 
ance is always acceptable in the 
eyes of the Lord. 

“Its a lie,” Loran repeated, 
and he began to recover his self- 
respect. 

“I will make a full confession, 
and to Uncle John.” 

And he did. 

It was about four o’clock when 
John Martin returned and found 
Loran in the garden, 

“ Why, Loran, boy, why are 
you at home so early, are you 
148 


ill? You are working too hard. 
Sit down over here in the shade 
while I-” 

“No, Uncle John, I am not 
ill. Come into the summer-house, 
I want to speak with you.*’ 

“ Why, what is the matter, 
lad?’’ 

Loran did not answer but led 
the way slow and wearily, 
and John Martin followed. All 
the color faded from his cheeks 
and he trembled violently. 

“Could Loran have learned 
the whole truth?” he questioned 
himself. 

When they entered the 
summer-house Loran sank down 
on the seat and buried his face 
in his hands. 

John Martin seated himself 
by the lad and put his arm 
149 


around him. 

“ Tell Uncle John all about 
it, Loran. No matter what it is 
that troubles you, it will be all 
right, boy. We are alone in the 
world, Loran, you and I. You 
belong to me and I belong to 
you.” 

‘‘Uncle John, you will despise 
me when you have heard my 
confession.” 

‘‘No, Loran, not so bad as 
that, I ” 

John Martin understood. He 
arose to his feet and looked 
down upon the young man 
before him so repentant, so 
humble, so thoroughly ashamed 
and so severely chastised. Yes, 
John Martin understood. Loran 
had not discovered or learned 
the truth. Just what he had 
150 


done, he did not know, but he 
was sure the boy had not learned 
the whole truth, or he would 
not have thought of confessing 
his fault to him — instead, he 
would turn from him with 
loathing and fear as from a 
viper. As he looked down upon 
the boy before him, his own 
heart sickened with remorse. He 
touched him lightly on the 
head and Loran looked up. 

“ Loran !” 

He arose and John Martin 
folded him to his breast. 

“ What is it, Loran?” 

‘‘And you will not despise 
me, Uncle John?” 

‘‘No, Loran, for I too, have 
sinned and need forgiviness.” 

‘‘I have entered you holy 
of holies— the ‘‘best-room.” 


151 


Had a thunderbolt fell in 
their midst, John Martin would 
not have been more shocked. 

“God !“ said John Martin aloud 
and Loran felt a shiver run 
through his form, and he knew 
how greatly he had wounded 
him. 

“I entered the room. Uncle 
John, but I did not disturb a 
thing.” 

“ What did you see that sur- 
prised you?” 

“Nothing, Uncle John, only 
the large pictures on the wall, 
especially the sweet faced woman 
and the writing on the sheet of 
music. The name — “Eosemood,” 
but I knew who that meant. It 
was my mother.” 

John Martin smiled. The light 
came back into his deep eyes. 

152 


“Uncle John, do you forgive 
me?” 

“ Yes, Loran, you are forgiven. 
I was afraid of this the day 
you asked me about the room 
and I did wrong to expose you 
to temptation. I should have 
shown you the room myself, but 
you are forgiven,” concluded 
John Martin as he put his arm 
around the boy’s shoulder and 
led him back to the house. 


153 


VIII 

ON LAKE 
WINNEPESAUKEE 


gATURDAY was crystal-clear. 

A very jewel of a day. Meadis 
awoke to the sound of the sing- 
ing of happy birds in the trees, 
and the fragrance of roses from 
her garden directly under her 
window. She arose hastily. 

“ O, iny, what a lovely day! 
Everything is blue and gold. 
What fun we will have on the 
excursion, and it will be my 
first trip on beautiful Lake 
Winnepesaukee ! But oh dear, I 
almost wish I had not promised 
to steal Loran’s secret. I hate to 
question him about his past 
history', and I don't think 1 will 
try very hard to make him talk 
154 


about it. If it comes right, I 
may mention it, but I won’t 
fret about it, and anyhow, I 
don’t see why Mr. Smith is so 
anxious about it. What does it 
matter to him whether Loran 
came from the Orphans’ Home 
or where he came from.” 

She dressed hastily and went 
down stairs to the kitchen to 
help her grandmother who had 
been up long before daylight, 
had prepared breakfast and hnd 
put up a dainty lunch for 
Meadis & Loran. It was Meadis’ 
first excursion and the old lady 
was glad that she was going 
and was anxious to do all she 
could to help her pretty grand- 
daughter have a good time, so 
she had arisen a little earlier 
than usual to do the work that 
155 


Meadis had always been in the 
habit of doing. 

“Why, grandma, here you 
have been up and done all this 
work while I have been sleep- 
ing. Why didn’t you call mer” 

“Never mind, Meadis, you 
don’t have an outin’ very often, 
but now that we are makin’ a 
little extra money there is 
no reason why you cant go 
once in a while if you wish. 
When I was a girl I never went 
anywhere, but I want you to 
go Meadis, and I shall not 
worry when you are in company 
with Loran, for he is a perfect 
gentleman. And now Meadis, I 
want you to be very careful & 
not question him about his past 
life. It ’aint good manners and 
I ’aint brung you up to ask 
156 


questions that don’t concern 
you, and besides, what he has 
been, is nothin’ to us. He is a 
gentlemaJi in every way, and I 
want you to show yourself a 
lady.” 

‘‘Yes, grandma,” but there 
was a faint guilty color in her 
cheeks that her grandmother’s 
sharp eye was quick to see. 

‘‘Meadis, why do you answer 
me in that fashion? If I thought 
you had been pesterin’ that boy, 
I’d — ” but she was interrupted 
by a voice in the garden. 

‘‘ Meadis, are you ready?” 

‘‘Yes, Loran, I will be there 
soon.” 

Grandma Bartlett stepped to 
the door with a hospitable smile. 

‘‘Come in, Loran, Meadis has 
not finished eatin’ her break- 
157 


fast yet. She will be through 
in a few minutes. How is uncle 
John ?” 

“About the same, Grandma.” 

Grandma sighed wearily and 
went on with her work. 

It was delightful on the lake. 
The water was smooth like a 
mirror and the day was glorious 
as if it had been made to order, 
as Loran expressed it. The air 
was full of warmth and sunshine. 
Joy and mirth was abound, for 
merry hearts were everywhere. 

They had not more than started 
when Loran made the remark 
that how nice it would be if 
Grandma could have only been 
able to make the trip, and how 
she would enjoy it. 

“Yes, but grandma is too old 


158 


and lame, you know. What a 
pity though, to think that when 
she was a girl she could not go 
anywhere because her folks were 
so stingy they would not let her 
spend a penny, and now that 
there is no one to hinder, she 
can’t go, because she is too old.” 

“Yes, Meadis, but it is all a 
part of life. We all try to live, 
but it seems as though others 
were determined that we should 
only have a bare existance in 
the real game of life. We are 
shielded from all the storms 
and know nothing of the hard- 
ships until we are thrust out 
upon the world to shift for 
ourselves. Our parents mean to 
be kind, of course, but it is 
not wholly kindness at that — we 
ought to be taught to know 
'159 


what it is and what it means 
to be brave, by letting us face 
some of the storms as they come 
and go. Our lives are a great 
deal like a sailor brought up on 
the lakes and then sent to sea 
with chart and compass and the 
warning words, ‘now remember, 
I have warned you!’ Yes, we 
have been warned, but hard 
fought for experience, is what 
counts in the game of life. It 
is beautiful to be petted & loved, 
but the stern lessons of life 
should not be neglected. No, 
our parents & guardians do not 
mean to be unkind, but like a 
thousand of others, are often in 
the wrong. Because they say, so 
and so is right, does not always 
prove true. It might have been 
one time during their earlier 
160 


days, but it should be remember- 
ed that things are not always 
repeated in this world of Time 
and Change. But because they 
are older and wiser than we 
are, we have to yield to their 
wishes and plans, no matter how 
unreasonable they may be. Old 
folks never want young people 
to have any fun. 

“Uncle John has been awful 
good to me, but I cannot under- 
stand just why we are living 
such a quiet and secluded life, 
just like a couple of hermits. 
I have thought of it over and 
over, but I don’t make any 
headway. I always come back 
to the same starting point, and 
conclusion that he is older and 
knows what is best for us both. 
But now that I am almost 
161 


twenty-three, it does seem as 
though he might reveal some of 
this mystery to me. Why is he 
always so sad? Why is he for- 
ever dreaming? Why does he 
not let go of the past and enjoy 
the blessings God is soattering 
upon him every day? All these 
things have passed through my 
mind a thousand times, but 
what have I gained? What have 
I profited by my meditation? 
Nothing.” 

Loran was sitting a little side- 
ways and looking out over the 
smooth clear water and Meadis 
could not see the tears that 
filled his eyes, but she knew 
they were there. She saw him 
brush them aside. Now was her 
chance, she thought, or at least, 
she felt she was at liberty to 
162 


speak, and why not bring up 
the desired subject, since he had 
hinted it. 

“Loran, I too, have been 
looking at it in this same light. 
You are no longer a child in 
leading-strings. Ycu have a 
right to know who you are and 
where you belong, and from 
whence you came, and who and 
what your father and mother 
were. Do you remember your 
early days at the Orphans’ 
Home? I do wish you would 
tell me about them. Do you 
know, I have never seen such a 
place, but grandma has, and 
she says they have lots of fun 
there, and it is not one bit like 
a prison. They have all sorts of 
games and everything to make 
life worth the living. How funny 
163 


to think I should ever thought 
it was like a prison! How stupid 
to imagine such a thing.” 

She saw the color mount to 
his fair cheeks and he tapped 
the deck-railing nervously with 
his fingers, but she did not see 
the fire in those dark eyes as 
she rattled out her questions. 
He stood it as stoically as he 
could, until she finished and sat 
waiting for an answer. 

“ Meadis, what have I ever 
done that I should be harassed 
in this manner, and by you? I 
thought this was settled a year 
ago, when I told you frankly 
that I could not speak of it ! 
Am I to be tormented and tan- 
talized about that which can be 
of no interest to others? Once 
more and for the last time, I 


tell you I can not tell you 
what you ask ! Please let that 
be sufficient.” 

A faint mocking smile played 
upon her pretty face, and she 
was bound and determined not 
to be baffled so easily. Why is 
it we are so often unkind to 
those we love and who love us 
in return? 

She touched him lightly on the 
arm. 

“But why? You speak of 
the chains that are about you, 
and that they were planned and 
placed upon you by one whom 
you call your uncle John. You 
speak of being free, and here 
you are twenty-three years of 
age and still this John Martin 
is your keeper. What is the 
reason you dare not speak for 
165 


yourself?” 

“ Meadis, it is not necessary to 
lie, nor is it necessary for me to 
make excuses or try to put you 
off. I simply will not discuss the 
subject! That is final. I am not 
angry with you, but I cannot 
tell you.” 

“But why?” she persisted. 

“Because I don’t wish to.” 

“That is no reason, whatever,” 
she said coldly. 

“It will have to be sufficient 
at least for the present,” he 
answered. 

The demon within her was 
stirring and try as she might, 
she could not control her temper. 

“I was a fool to come on the 
excursion, today. I didn’t want 
to, anyhow.” 

“You said you did.” 

166 


“Yes, I said I did, simply to 
please you.” 

“But, Meadis— ” 

“That’s all right. You go on 
talking about your troubles and 
of being in chains, and if I try 
to sympathize with you or ask a 
question, “the fat’s in the fire” 
and you turn upon me like a 
half-wild Indian.” 

“But—” 

“I don’t believe you ever saw 
the doors of an Orphans’ Home 
and more than that, Mr. Smith 
don’t, either.” 

At this, he arose and faced 
her. 

“So this Mr. Smith is some- 
what interested in my affairs, is 
he? Well, I thought so, from 
the beginning.” 

She saw her mistake quickly 

167 


and tried to retrieve it. 

“He and grandma were talk- 
ing about it the other evening 
and-” 

He interrupted. 

“Meadis, is this true? Look 
at me! Is this true?’’ 

She hesitated a moment. 

“Don’t you believe me?’’ 

“Answer my question!’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

“Meadis, I will now answer 
you. No! I do not believe you.’’ 

She arose. 

He looked at her in silence 
with his hands in his pockets. 
Their eyes met in one swift 
glance. She turned away. Still 
he watched her. After a few 
moments she looked over her 
shoulder, and his eyes were still 
upon her, not unkindly, but in 
168 


pity and Love’s unspeakable 
g^rief. Her lips began to quiver 
and she burst into tears. He did 
not move or speak but still kept 
his eyes fixed upon her. 

By and by, she grew calmer 
and dried her tears. Belief and 
repentance had come with weep- 
ing. O, bow often it comes to 
us one and all. We get nettled 
and provoked and the evil that 
is within, overpowers our weaker 
facilities and we rebel, not 
willfully exactly, but instantly — 
being over-burdened. But then, 
everything that is done in hate 
or deception, has to done over 
again, because there is no other 
way to make a wrong, right. 

She went back to him shame- 
facedly and stood there in silence 
for a moment with bowed head. 


169 


By and by, she raised her tear- 
stained face to him. 

“Loran, Loran, forgive me! It 
was a lie. He bribed me to do 
it. He — oh what am I saying. 
I mean — ” 

“Meadis, compose yourself. I 
am not angry with you, dear. 
We will drop the subject.” 

But there was something in 
her breast that would not let her 
remain silent. She felt that she 
must speak, and yet she dared 
not, for she remembered her 
oath. She had sworn to assist 
John Smith, and there was a 
bond that she felt she dared not 
break. 

‘‘Dear Lord,” she moaned 
under her breath. ‘‘Loran, he — ” 
she almost screamed. 

‘‘Meadis, what is the matter?” 

170 


he said taking her trembling 
hands within his own. “Be 
brave, little girl — I do not mind. 
I understand it all. John Smith 
has made you his slave and he 
has silenced your lips by making 
you promise to remain his silent 
partner. For him, you promised 
to inquire into my private affairs 
& he holds you silent. Perhaps 
he has sworn you on the Bible. 
Is that it? Surely you are at 
liberty to answer that much, 
and if that is the case, I can 
help you. Is it, dearest?” 

“Yes.” 

“I thought so. I did not 
misjudge him the day I met 
you with him on the way to the 
store. Now listen. 

“You have foresworn yourself 
to keep secret things not at the 
171 


time made known to you, and 
that is a sin to be repented of. 
You have already done that. 
You have acknowledged your 
sin and you wish to atone. Am 
I right, Meadis?” 

“Yes.” 

“In the fifth chapter of the 
Book of Leviticus, the 4th verse, 
of your Bible, (I quote from 
your Protestant Bible for I am 
of the Catholic faith, you know) 
it reads: 

‘ If a soul swear, pro- 
nouncing with his lips 
to do evil, or to do good, 
whatsoever a man shall 
pronounce with an oath, 
and it be hid from him; 
when he knoweth of it, 
then he shall be guilty 
of one of these. 

( 5 ) And it shall be, 
when he is guilty of one 


172 


of these things, that he 
shall confess that he 
hath sinned in that 
thing.* 

“And if you want an example 
and from one who committed a 
sin under such an oath, I would 
refer you to the margin of these 
same verses, which will refer 
you to Mark: 6. 22. 

‘And when the daugh- 
ter of the said Herodias 
came in, and danced, 
and pleased Herod and 
them that sat with him, 
the king said unto the 
damsel, Ask of me what- 
soever thou wilt, and I 
wilt give it thee. 

(23) And he sware unto 
her, Whatsoever thou 
shalt ask of me, I will 
give it thee, unto the 
half of my kingdom. 


173 


( 24 ) And she went forth 
and said unto her mother, 
What shall I ask? And 
she said, The head of 
John the Baptist. 

( 25 ) And she came in 
straightway with haste 
unto the king, and saked, 
saying, I will that thou 
give me by and by on a 
charger the head of 
John the Baptist. 

(26) And the king was 
exceeding sorry, yet for 
his oath’s sake, and for 
their sakes which sat 
with him, he would not 
refuse her.’ 

“And so he made himself a 
murderer, simply because he 
would not break his oath, which 
was a sin. Meadis, always re- 
member, we are at liberty at 
all times to repent if we only 
will. Any wrong, may be 
174 


repented of, and we can be 
forgiven. No one need remain 
under a cloud of darkness. The 
Master is just and kind, when 
we are ready to atone. 

“Yes,” said Meadis softly, 
with the sweet breath of summer 
in her face, and the joy of 
forgiveness filling her soul, “we 
can all be forgiven.” 


175 


IX 


A TROUBLED HEART 

'J’^OR AN came home weary and 
perplexed from the trials he 
had passed through during his 
excursion on the lake. He had 
gone away in the morning with 
a light heart and pleasant 
anticipation of the day, and had 
come back in a meloncholy 
mood. But it was nothing new to 
Loran, since nearly all his days 
had been far from happy ones, 
and he had been with John 
Martin so long, he seemed to 
share all his weariness and 
sorrow, too. Loran tried hard 
enough to be brave, but there 
are moments when it does seem 
that to rebel, is a relief, a sort 
of outlet for the overcharged soul. 
ITG 


Johu Martin was sitting in 
the doorway reading & did not 
notice Loran until he was near 
the steps. 

“Well, Loran, did you have a 
good time?” 

“Yes, and no. Say, Uncle 
John, who is John Smith?” 

“John Smith— why, boy, I 
never heard of the man.” 

“I mean the man stopping at 
Grandma Bartlett’s,” said Loran 
nervously fumbling with his 
watch chain. “Don’t you remem- 
ber, he stopped here the evening 
he arrived at the Corners, a 
month or six weeks ago. You 
were at the gate when he came 
and inquired the way to Oak- 
ley Esden’s office?” 

“Yes, I do remember somebody 
inquiring the way, but I did 
177 


not pay very much attention to 
him more than to direct him 
where he wanted to go. I don’t 
think I have ever seen him 
since; if I have, I did not know 
him. Anyhow, I never knew a 
John Smith in my life. Why do 
you ask me, Loran, and why 
are you so worried?” 

“O, nothing, in particular,” he 
replied sullenly. 

But John Martin knew better. 
While he did not know what 
was troubling Loran this time, 
he was sure something had gone 
wrong, and he must find out 
what it was. He could stand 
any amount of pain, himself, 
but when things went wrong 
with Loran, it was different and 
harder to bear than his own 
burdens. 


178 


He arose, stepped to the boy, 
turned him around and looked 
him in the face. 

“ Loran, tell me about this 
John Smith, this new comer to 
the Corners. Has he been 
annoying you?” 

“No, not exactly that. Not 
directly, but he seems to be 
mightily interested about my 
affairs, and he has been trying 
to hire Meadis to find out if I 
really did come from the 
Orphans’ Home.” 

John Martin smiled. 

** What does Meadis know 
about it?” 

“Nothing.” 

“And this John Smith is 
getting interested?” 

“Yes.” 

“Has he been talking this to 

179 


Grandma Bartlett?” 

“No.” 

“I thought so.” John Martin 
brightened up. “Grandma is the 
one woman in the world to be 
trusted.” 

“So Grandma knows all.” 

“I did not say so, did I?” 

“Uncle John, how long must 
we, you and I, keep up this 
sort of life?” 

John Martin shook his head 
as if to say he did not know. 
He dropped Loran’s hand and 
began to pick the dead leaves 
from a rose-bush near by, but 
Loran was not so easily put off. 

“Why do we have to live 
alone and so different from 
other folks? Why are we the 
laughing stocks of the whole 
town? I am sick and tired of 


ISO 


I was out of it!” 

“ Loran !” 

“I can’t help it, Uncle John.” 

“Are you tired of staying 
with me, Loran?” 

“No, but-” 

“Then try and be patient. 
Wherever you go, you will find 
that you will have crosses to 
bear, and things will not always 
turn out as you would like to 
have them, but you will also 
learn that all things come to 
those who wait.” 

He turned abruptly and went 
into the house. 

Loran watched him & realized 
that he was as much in the dark 
as before he commenced to 
discuss the matter with him. It 
was always the same. 

181 


John Martin entered his “den” 
and closing the door, sank into 
the nearest chair and began to 
dream his eternal dreams. 

“Who is this John Smith? I 
must look into the matter at 
once. I will go over to Grandma 
Bartlett’s and see him. No, 
perhaps I had better send for 
Grandma to come here,” he 
muttered to himself as he took 
a small picture from a box 
hidden in his desk, and looked 
upon the face of a youth of 
about eighteen. A bold and a 
handsome boy as was ever born 
into a world of woe. The face 
was fair and frank, & unmarred 
by the malignant of deceit, or 
selfishness, but oh, what will 
not the years do. John Martin 
studied the pictured face for a 
182 


long time and the tears ran 
down his pale cheeks. In the 
^-^ears gone by, he had loved this 
boy, and even now, it was hard 
to bury his memory. He had 
tried to, but he found it was 
impossible. This boy in the picture 
had played traitor, but in spite 
of all the misery he had caused, 
John Martin loved him. 

It has well been said, that it 
is an impossibility for a love 
that is pure, to die. It may, for 
a time become cold & indiffer- 
ent, for many of the storms in 
life are severe, and while they 
may in their fury and madness 
overpower love, if it is genuine, 
some day it must be resurrected 
again, for it is the Flower of 
Heaven, born of God, and can 
not die. 


183 


Loran rapped at the door. 

“Are you going to bed, Uncle 
John ?’* 

“Yes, Loran, I will come 
soon.” 

After one more look at the 
picture of the boy who had 
played him false, John Martin 
returned it to its secret hiding 

place and went to bed. 

He was soon fast asleep, and 
while he slept, he dreamed. 

He walked along the shore of 
a quiet and peaceful river and 
met there, his boyhood’s friend, 
George Castle. Not the George 
Castle he had known, but a man 
apparently young in form and 
face, but gray with the grief 
and remorse of a sin that had 
haunted him ail his days. As 
John Martin looked upon him, 
184 


there was nothing but pity and 
forgiveness in his heart and he 
went to him with hands out- 
stretched in welcome, but his 
friend of the past years only 
shook his head. 

“No, John Martin, the years 
have tempered me to every grief, 
and your belated forgiveness 

comes too late. As you see me 

now, so will I live and die.” 

“But you disappeared and I 
never knew what became of 

you.” 

“Did you try to find me?” 
asked the strange young, old 

man. 

“No,” replied Martin, meekly. 

“I thought so.” 

The stranger sighed wearily, 
a sigh that ended in a sob like 
one under a great sorrow of the 
ISo 


unmerciful years that had been 
as eternal winter to his sad and 
darkened soul. 

O, it struck deep into John 
Martin’s heart, and for a moment 
he could not speak. And when 
he did, it was in his own selfish 
defence. 

O, God! when will men learn 
to put self aside? When will 
they cease to crucify and wonder 
at their own sorrow — their un- 
speakable loneliness? 

“You remember, George, you 
played' traitor, and — ’’ 

“Yes, oh. yes, I remember,’* 
he interrupted, “lay them on, 
John, I can bear the stripes. We 
all are punished by our sins. I 
presume you, have not escaped.’’ 

There was a mirthless laugh 
from lips that had long since lost 
186 


the ecstasy of youth’s musical 
laughter. 

But even that, did not stay 
the hand that held the lash, for 
John Martin went on, seemingly 
untouched with divine pity. 

“Yes, you played traitor and 
I have not forgiven you.’’ 

“Exactly. Than you would 
not have forgiven me if you had 
known of my whereabouts. Your 
own words, John Martin, verify 
the truth !’’ 

“Yes, I understand.” 

It was his friend’s turn with 
the lash now. Where no 
mercy is shown, no mercy can 
be expected. “Ye shall reap as 
ye have sown.” 

“John Martin, you know as 
well as I, that what I did, was 
the mad desire of a jealous 
187 


nature, & you knew that nature 
well, for we had been compan- 
ions together for years, and 
might have been still, had not 
a woman came between us. 
Yet, you have gone through life 
unmarried, and so have I. You 
have not known what real 
happiness is since we both left 
home years & years ago; neither 
have I. We both have drank 
from the cup of wormwood and 
myrrh. The years have been 
many, John Martin, but we 
have both lived. You returned 
and have been surrounded with 
all that is good and beautiful 
with one to love and pity you 
and try to bring back again 
at least part of the sunshine 
into your darkened life, but as 
for me, I have been groping 
188 


blindly as one in the dark, but 
I have lived and prospered. I 
did not seek riches, God knows 
I did not, but they came to me. 
I only prayed for life and would 
have been thankful for that, and 
should have been even if I had 
only been granted a bare and 
small hard-earned existence here 
among my fellow-men, but the 
Master has seen fit to give me 
riches. Perhaps He so richly 
blessed me because I was wretch- 
ed and thankful for life alone; 
because I have borne my cross 
as penance for my sin, and 
have not rebelled. John Martin 
how has it been with you all 
these years?” 

John Martin bowed his head. 
When he raised it again, another 
vision was before him. 


189 


He saw a field of daisies and 
coming slowly toward him, was 
a mother with a baby boy in 
her arms. He stretched out his 
arms to receive them, but she 
stopped him with a wave of her 
hand. 

“John Martin, I loved you, I 
trusted you, but you would not 
listen because my faith was not 
your faith. You admired my 
beauty and that was all, but 
because you have been kind, I 
love you still.” 

“Rosa, I was blind, I had a 
father and mother and they 
hated your religious faith, for- 
getting that in doing so, they 
were condemming their own; but 
they were my parents neverthe- 
less, ifc I yielded to their wishes. 
But I have never loved another, 
190 


so sincerely as I have loved you. 
If you knew all — I mean if you 
could have understood you would 
never have doubted me. You 
have suffered and so have I, 
Rosa.” 

“John Martin, why did you 
go away as you did? Your 
lying lips are an abomination 
to the Lord. You loved another, 
and because your boyhood’s 
companion rebuked you, you 
cast him off forever! He has 
been a wanderer through life, 
& so have you. God has weight- 
ed the balance well. You both 
have reaped what you have sown. 
Yet, I love and pity you, and 
in the near future, God will say 
to the angel holding the scroll 
of Destiny in his hand, ‘Enough! 
These two are Pardoned.’” 


191 


John Martin awoke. The sun 
was shining brightly in the 
room and he arose pale and 
haggard and went down stairs. 
Loran had prepared breakfast <& 
they ate in silence as usual. 
After the meal was over, John 
Martin placed his hand gently 
upon Loran ’s. 

“Loran, I am not well and I 
wish you would go and get 
Grandma. Tell her I am ill and 
ask her to come immediately.’’ 

“Isn’t there anything I can 
do, Uncle John? Only let me 
help you.” 

“There is nothing I want, 
Loran, but I must see Grandma 
at once.” 

“Very well, I will go and 
get her.” 

After he had gone, John 


192 


Martin paced the floor, a prey 
of agonizing memories. 

“O, God, why can not I be 
kind ? Why am I so miserable? 
Teach me how to do at least 
one little act of kindness before 
the end comes. Why am I so 
hard, so unforgiving!” 

Grandma Bartlett was not 
long in getting to the home of 
John Martin. Lame as she was, 
love and kindness lent speed 
and strength to her tottering 
and feeble limbs, for she had 
loved John Martin ever since he 
was a baby. She had been his 
adviser through life and he still 
looked to her as a child weary 
and tired of its play turns to 
its mother. How strange it is 
that we never realize that we 
are grown-ups. W’’e always look 
193 


to mother for everything and 
we always find our wants and 
needs fulfilled in her great love 
for us. We receive much and 
give little in return. 

“Say, Grandma, who is John 
Smith he said as soon as she 
entered the door. 

“What?” she exclaimed in 
surprise. 

“ Who is John Smith?” 

“ Why, bless your heart, I 
don’t know any more about him 
than the man in the moon. He 
came to us and wanted to get 
boarded for the summer. He 
said he was sick and wanted to 
get out of the city. Why?” 

“Well, he seems to be anxious 
to learn who Loran is and where 
he came from.” 

“Well, I presume he has heard 
194 


it talked of, at the store, John.” 

‘‘Grandma, did you know he 
had been questioning Meadis?” 

‘‘No!” snapped Grandma, her 
keen eyes flashing, ‘‘but suppose 
he has, John, Meadis knows no 
more about your affairs than the 
chickens out in the coop! What 
can she know? I have not 
breathed a word to her or any- 
one else. I have learned her to 
keep her mouth shut and not talk 
about things she don’t know 
anythin’ about. You wait until 
I get home. I’ll teach her a 
lesson she won’t forget in a 
hurry.” 

‘‘No, Grandma, Meadis is no 
longer a child. She is a woman 
and you must be reasonable 
with her, and besides, you say 
you have not told her anything, 
195 


so don’t you see, she has done 
nothing wrong. Smith is the 
guilty one and you must talk 
with him. Who do you think he 
is?” 

“I don’t know.” 

‘‘Well I do.” 

“Who!” 

“George Castle.” 

“George Castle!” 

“Yes, Grandma I saw him 
last night in a dream and I am 
sure.” 

Quick as a flash. Grandma 
remembered that he did 
have a slight resemblance to 
John’s boyhood’s friend, young 
George Castle, and she too, was 
now sure it was he. 

“John, I believe you’re right. 
I thought his eyes looked some- 
what bright for a man who 
196 


seemed to be near the seventy-odd. 
Yon just wait ’till I gjet home — 
if he’s that good-for-nothing 
George Castle, I’ll strip him of 
his fine feathers, now you mark 
what I say. So he has dared to 
come back and show himself 
here at the Corners among hon- 
est people? You wait, he w’ill 
get a piece of my mind.” 

She was fairly boiling with 
excitement. 

“Is there anything I can do 
for you, John?” 

“No, Grandma. I only wanted 
to see you about this affair. I 
hope it will come out all right 
in the end.” 

“Yes, my boy, it will.” 

“I hope so.” 

“It will, John, leave it to 
grandma.” 


197 


He looked up and smiled with 
satisfaction, and to Grandma, 
that was her reward. 

“John, you have been livin’ 
too long in the shadow, and 
somethin’ seems to keep tellin’ 
me over and over this beautiful 
mornin’ that all is goiu’ to be 
roses and sunshine, by and by.’’ 

“I hope so Grandma, for a 
a little while, at least.” 

“Yes,” said the kind old lady, 
“we have all had enough of the 
storm. Now, if there is nothing 
I can do, I will be goin’.” 

“Grandma you are more kind 
than I deserve, and it is not 
right for you to be forever 
sacrificing your time on me, and 
I have been selfish to allow it 
all these years, but I have been 
so miserable—” 


198 


“Stop, John, we must make 
the most of what the good Lord 
has given us that is beautiful. 
Now go out into the garden and 
live among the roses John, and 
don’t worry over what the 
future may disclose.’’ 

“Yes, Grandma.’’ 

“John, what are you dream- 
in’ about, now?’’ 

“Loran. The boy is having a 
hard time of it, but ho is every 
inch a man. Someday, I must 
tell him the truth.’’ 

“Yes, John, you must. The 
boy is bein’ pestered to death 
and it is a wicked shame.’’ 

“Unto the third and forth 
generation,’’ said John Martin 
to himself as he went out into 
the garden as Grandma had 
suggested. 


199 


Grandma washed the break- 
fast dishes, tidied np the room 
a bit, and then went home. 

She found John Smith on the 
doorstep, and without a word of 
warning she yanked the false 
wig and beard from his faee 
and head. He arose and faced 
her pale and trembling. 

“So it is you, George Castle!” 

He did not answer. 

“Well, I am waitin’ for a 
reply — an explanation!” 

“Grandma, I have no 
apologies to offer. I came back 
because I could not keep away 
any longer. I heard that John 
was dead and I returned to see 
at least his grave. I have sinned 
Grandma, but God knows that 
my punishment has been greater 
than ray sin. I have paid the 
200 


penalty ten-fold. Have you no 
kindly word of welcome for me 
Grandma? Have you no pity?” 

The spirit of the Master stood 
before her. 

“Inasmuch — ” 

“Yes, George, my boy, I do 
pity you, — but hurry «fe replace 
your disguise for here comes 
Meadis up the road and she 
must not know, at present. I 
will have a talk with you 
to-night.” 

He hastened to obey and 
stepped aside for her to enter 
the house. 


201 


X 

AT FATHER RODNEY’S 
PARISH 


Jj'^ATHER Rodney lived in a 
pretty vine-clad cottage at 
the Corners. He too, was a 
great lover of flowers and his 
garden like John Martin’s, was 
radiant and redolent with blos- 
soms. He loved them, and this 
might have been the reason that 
they grew so profusely, for it 
has been said if you want 
flowers, you must love them. 
You may give them all they 
need of care and rich soil, you 
may tend them and water them, 
and they may grow and bloom, 
but there is an ineffable some- 
thing that will be missing in 
their beauty and grace if you 
:>02 


do not loVe them. A something 
that can not be expressed in 
words. Everything, under the 
sun needs love, and love in 
abundance to keep it in the 
light & the glory of the world. 

On this particular Sunday 
morning. Father Rodney was in 
his garden when Loran called. 

“Good morning, Loran, come 
and sit here in the shade of my 
favorite roses. They were never 
so beautiful before. How is 
Uncle John?” 

“It is about him that I have 
come to see you this morning. 
Father Rodney. How much 
longer am I to live under this 
scandle that broods over my 
existance? I am no longer a 
child, and now that I am of 
age and past my twenty-first 
203 


birthday, I can’t see why, I have 
not a right to know who I am. 
Why must I be ridiculed simply 
because someone else has sinned 
and come short of the glory 
that they might have had, had 
they been a little more kind 
and righteous? I have been 
called a pauper from the 
Orphans’ Home and made the 
fool of the village all my life, 
because someone else has done 
something the people can not 
solve, and I have been oblige 
to remain silent, simply to shield 
this someone else. It seems to me 
that others should be made to 
bear their own burdens and not 
shift them off on others to carry, 
for God knows that every one 
has a sufficient amount of burdens 
to bear, and I don’t believe God 
204 


intends that we should ever be 
weighted beyond our strength 
with the cares of others.” 

“My son, have you not learned 
that it is noble to bear the 
burdens of others, and does not 
the Book teach us to bear one 
anothers burdens?” 

“Yes, as far as love and 
sympathy goes.” 

“Are we not also to help them 
mentally and morally as well 
as physically through life?” 

“We are not to make our 
own lives miserable and deprive 
ourselves of all the glory that 
God is trying to scatter upon us, 
and we are also told in the 
same chapter from which you 
quote, that every one shall bear 
his own burdens.” 

“Then you call the Word a 
205 


contradiction?” 

‘‘No, I believe it is a book of 
common sense and it must be 
used with the same respect. We 
are to help others bear their 
burdens, and as I have already 
said, we do when we love and 
sympathize with them, but I 
don’t believe God ever intended 
that any of His children should 
carry the sins of others to shield 
them, and I think that is what 
He meant when he said, ‘every- 
one must bear his own burden.’ 
I believe in love and kindness 
and I am sure, without boasting, 
that no one here at the Corners 
can say that I have not lived a 
holy and virtuous life.” 

“You are right, Loran,” said 
the priest. “I have known you 
all your days, and I have never 
206 


heard one unkind sentence 
against you, only a curious and 
mistaken remark as to who you 
were and where you came from. 
Some have said you came from 
the Home, and to all these 
remarks, John Martin has made 
no reply, so they have taken it 
for granted and given it out as 
a fact, but you have been brave 
and although you have fought 
the silent battles w'ithin your 
own heart, somehow, now that 
you have reached manhood, you 
find the battle harder & harber, 
and you will find it even harder, 
my son, as you grow older. You 
have come this morning to ask 
my advice and I can only say 
that I would advise you to keep 
it up a little longer. Be brave 
Loran and rich shall be your 
207 


reward. We never lose when we 
sacrifice our own inclinations 
for others. I know just how 
you feel and how vainly some 
of the Scriptures appeal to you, 
but when the proper time comes 
when you need them the most, 
the things that were so dark 
and meaningless, will unfold and 
fill you with a far greater joy 
than these roses, that are truly 
the sweetest things God has 
created next to a human soul. 
Sometimes we almost doubt the 
Scriptures when we read that it 
is more blessed to give than to 
receive, but there are times in 
our lives when we can see and 
know that the Word is the truth. 
There are times when certain 
passages seem dark and mean- 
ingless, and again, they are as 
208 


a lamp of light to our dark 
souls. Loran, do you not under- 
stand?” 

Loran did not speak. 

“My son, look up!” said the 
priest sternly but not unkindly. 

“There, now I can talk to 
you. ‘I will lift up mine eyes 
unto the hills, from whence 
cometh my strength. My strength 
cometh from the Lord,’ said the 
psalmist. He meant by that, 
that when we let the sunlight 
shine into our faces we feel its 
warmth and it helps us to take 
courage; he meant that when 
people go with their heads bowed 
towards the ground where the 
things of gloom are, always 
downward, we can not make 
them understand, but when we 
can look into their faces, we can 
209 


talk to them and console them; 
he meant that Heaven is above 
and Hell is below. This is why 
we lift our faces to the light 
when we pray; this is why all 
nature is so very beautiful to 
us — because we look up to it. 
The child walking through the 
field and woodland with its 
mother, says T don’t see any- 
thing wonderful in nature!’ 
‘Look up, my child,’ says the 
mother, and the child looks up, 
& claps his hands with delight. 
‘O, how beautiful!’ and he runs 
about laughing, trying to catch 
gay butterflies darting hither & 
thither in their play.” 

Loran moved uneasily in his 
seat and bending forward began 
to caress a dwafted aster that 
grew at his feet. 

210 


“Father Rodney, this little 
flower illustrates just about the 
state of my soul this morning.” 

“Loran, whatever is the matter 
with you? I never saw you in 
such spirits before. You have 
always been an obedient boy 
with the same sweet nature of 
your dear mother. Has someone 
been talking to you in hopes of 
discouraging you in lifer” 

“That is about all I have been 
getting. Father Rodney, will 
you answer one question?” 

“Yes, if I can.” 

“Who is John Smith?” 

“I do not know', Loran. I 
have heard of him as a new- 
comer at the Corners, but I 
have never met him. Why do 
you ask?” 

“He is boarding at Grandma 


211 


Bartlett’s and he is the 
strangest man you ever saw. 
Ever since I first saw him, I 
have had a strange dislike for 
him. Why, I can not tell, and 
only a few days ago he tried to 
bribe Meadis to aid him in find- 
ing out my past history.” 

“And did she succeed*?” 

“No.” 

“And how do you know he 
tried to bribe her?” 

“She confessed it to me yes- 
terday while we were on the 
excursion. I told Uncle John 
about it «& he seemed disturbed 
although he told me frankly 
that he did not know anyone 
by that name.” 

“And you doubt his word, 
Loran?” 

“No, Father Eodney, I believe 


212 


Uncle John. I would trust him 
with ray life. 

“Then, Loran, if your faith is 
so sure in your Uncle John, why 
can not you be patient to bear 
and forbear a little longer? I 
am sure he will make things 
plain by and by. The darkest 
sky must turn to azure some- 
time — we could not stand it 
always and it isn’t God’s way.” 

“But, Father Rodney, do you 
know what is troubling him?” 

“Loran, I am not at liberty 
to speak. You must wait — there 
is no other way!” 

Loran sat looking out across 
the rose-garden and his thoughts 
seemed to be far away in his 
childhood days. The kind- 
hearted priest pitied the boy to 
the depths of his heart, but 
213 


according to his Church, he 
could not betray the confession 
of another. He took from his 
pocket a thin volume of poems 
and after turning the pages 
carefully, he said: 

“Loran, listen while I read a 
little poem that has been a 
world of help to me. Perhaps it 
may help you, 

‘I know not what befalls 
me ! 

God hangs a mist o’er my 
eyes; 

And o*er each step of my 
onward path, 

He makes new scenes 
to rise. 

And every joy He sends 
me, 

Is a sweet and glad 
surprise. 


214 


‘I see not a step before 
me 

As I tread the days 
of the year, 

But the Past is still in 
God’s keeping; 

The Future His mercy 
will clear, 

And what looks dark 
in the distance. 

May brighten as I draw 
near. 

‘ For perhaps the dreaded 
Future, 

Is less bitter than I 
think; 

The Lord will sweeten 
the water 

Before I stoop 
to drink; 

But if Marah must be 
Marah, 

He will stand beside 
the brink. 


215 


‘It may be there is 
waiting 

The coming of my 
feet, 

Some gift of such blessed 
glory, 

Some joy so strangely 
sweet, 

That my lips can only 
tremble 

With the thanks I cannot 
speak. 

‘O, restful, blissful, 
ignorance ! 

‘ Tis blessed not to 
know; 

It keeps me quiet in those 
arms 

That w’ill not let me 
go. 

And hushes my soul to 
slumber. 

On the breast that loves 
me so. 


‘216 


‘So I go on not know- 
ing; 

I would not if I 
might; 

I would rather walk in 
the dark with God, 

Than go alone in the 
light; 

I would rather walk with 
Him by faith, 

Than go alone by 
sight. 

‘My heart shrinks from the 
trials 

The Future may dis- 
close. 

Yet I never had a 
sorrow 

But what the dear Lord 
chose; 

So I send back the 
coming tears. 

With the whispered words, 
He knows.’ ” 


217 


When the priest finished read- 
ing, liOran turned his head and 
smiled. 

“Thank you, Father Rodney, 
I will do as you say — I will 
wait a little longer. You have 
led me out into the sunlight.” 

The priest smiled. 

“I knew you would listen to 
reason, Loran, and I promise I 
will see your Uncle John and 
talk with him in regard to the 
matter. There is always a way 
out of every difficulty. It may 
not be just as we might choose, 
but after all, it always works 
for the best, and in after years, 
quite often, we see it in the 
right light. It is possible my 
son, for us to master every con- 
flict, and all we need, is a brave 
heart.” 


218 


“Yes, Father, but it isn’t 
always so easy to govern one’s 
self when they have been under 
a great trial nearly all of their 
days.’’ 

“But, Loran, you have done 
it this morning.’’ 

“Yes, through your help.’’ 

“Certainly. Bearing burdens 
with each other.’’ 

Loran left the priest in the 
garden smiling sweetly. Father 
Rodney had changed him body 
and soul. This is the reward 
for doing a kind act in the spirit 
of the Master — the joy that 
comes through the consciousness 
of having done it. 


'219 


XI 

TELLING LOEAN 


J’J NCLE John, what do you 
think of matrimony?” 

They were sitting together in 
the garden for it had been an 
extremely hot day and the cool, 
fragrant breath of the growing 
things in the dewy eventide was 
refreshing. 

John Martin looked up some- 
what surprised out of the mood 
of taciturn gloom that usually 
enveloped him, and yet it was 
hardly a surprise, though it had 
come so unexpectedly at this 
time. 

‘‘So the time has really come, 
Loran. Well, I am glad of it. 
Meadis is a good girl and she is 
the one I would like to have 


220 


you marry.” 

‘‘Yes, Uncle John, we are 
goiu{? to be married in October,” 
said Loran proudly. 

“What does Grandma say 
about it?” 

“She is agreeable if you are.” 

John Martin was silent for 
some moments. His mind was 
far away, as usual, but his 
moody melancholy soon left him, 
and he turned once more to 
Loran. 

“Now my boy, I am going to 
tell you something. Something 
that you have been waiting to 
know for two of three years. 
You may turn from me, 
you may dispise me, yet I must 
speak. You will be going from 
my home by and by and I must 
make things straight first.” 


221 


It was a heavy task that lay 
before John Martin, for he did 
not know just how Loran would 
take it, and he dreaded to speak, 
fearing that the child who was 
and always had been the pride 
of his heart would turn from 
him in fear and loathing as 
from a deadly serpent. For the 
time, John Martin felt like 
digging his own grave with his 
bare hands, jumping in and 
pulling the dirt in upon him — 
something as a murderer must 
feel when he hears his sentence 
read telling the hour when he 
must w^alk to the gallows. The 
evening was warm and sultry, 
although a gentle breeze was 
blowing from the west across 
the meadows, but to him, it 
seemed like the fiery breath of 


a dragon; the cold sweat stood 
out upon him and he trembled 
in every limb. 

Loran reached out and touched 
his hand sympathetically. It 
was cold as death. 

“Uncle John, are you ill?” 

John Martin did not answer 
this question. He did not seem 
to hear; he was thinking deeply 

thinking how to commence 

the story that he had rehearsed 
so many times, knowing that 
someday it must be told. 

He moved slightly toward 
Loran as if for support and 
commenced. 

“Loran, in the big brick house 
on Main street, there lived many 
years ago, a family by the name 
of Greenfield, Frank Greenfield 
and his wife. They were honest, 
223 


hard-working people and deeply 
in love with each other, but 
they had not been blessed with 
the laughter of little children to 
brighten their home that seemed 
to set right in the middle of the 
Garden of Eden and lacked only 
the sunshine of a child’s presence 
to make it an earthly paradise. 
So they went to the Orphans’ 
Home and took for adoption a 
boy by the name of George 
Castle. ( Thus Satan entered 
their Eden. ) I do not mean 
that it is a sin to adopt children, 
God forbid, but they had new 
cares and troubles to disturb 
their dreams of life and joy. 
George was a handsome boy 
and they loved him as if he 
had been their own flesh and 
blood.” 


224 


As John Martin continued, he 
leaned his head upon his hand 
in such a way as to shade his 
countenance from the boy’s 
eyes, and spoke in low husky 
tones, that broke here and there 
with suppressed emotion. 

“He had been in their home 
but a few days when I met him, 
and we became fast friends at 
once. Where I went, George went, 
and what I did, he did. We 
were always together, and this 
close friendship continued for 
many years. One day, George 
and I attended an auction some 
ten or twelve miles from here 
in a little settlement of French 
people, and while there, I fell 
madly in love with a pretty 
French girl. I was young and 
at that time any pretty girl 
22o 


would turn niy head. After 
that, I used to go and see her 
every Saturday & return home 
Sunday evening. I kept this up 
for nearly two years before my 
parents got hold of it. George 
knew about it, but he was true 
as steel to me and knew how to 
keep his mouth shut; but some- 
how, my father got “wind” of 
the affair and tried to break it 
up, but it was too late ; we had 
been secretly married and I was 
the father of a fine baby boy. 
When my father learned of 
this, he was bitter against us 
both, my wife and myself, and 
also George Castle for keeping 
the secret, but when learned 
that no one knew of this secret 
marriage but Grandma Bartlett 
and George Castle and Father 
226 


Rodney, and that they wonld 
not reveal it, he was easier 
about it and gave me money to 
support my boy. I was but 
eighteen years of age and the 
pride of my mother’s heart. She 
never knew my secret, not even 
to the day of her death. My 
father was a trader and dealer 
in horses and she was led to 
believe that it was business that 
took me away nearly every 
Saturday and Sunday. 

“Both my father and mother 
were bitterly prejudiced against 
the French people and the 
Catholic faith, and had my 
mother known that I was a 
husband and father in a French 
family, she would have died 
long before her time. Father 
and I kept this secret for two 
227 


years, but it was beginning to 
be irksome, so George and I 
planned to go to Pennsylvania. 
We heard that there was a 
canning factory at Johnstown 
where hands were wanted, so we 
wrote to the company and 
obtained positions. My young 
wife was nearly heart-broken, 
but I promised I would help 
her and I was good as my word 
for I sent her money every 
week. But while I was there, I 
fell in love with another, a 
beautiful girl by the name of 
Rosemond Merritt. When Geo- 
rge learned of this he was like 
a maniac. He had always been 
of a jealous nature, and fearing 
he would lose me, he began to 
do all he could to break up our 
courtship, and he succeeded 
228 


when we had gone so far as to 
think of getting married. He 
went to Rosemond’s father one 
day and told him of my secret 
marriage and that I was the 
father of a child. Rosemond 
qusetioned me about it and of 
course I had to admit it, but I 
tried to explain how my 
marriage had been only a boyish 
fancy and that we had not 
really lived together. I told her 
that there were things that I 
could not explain satisfactorily 
just then, but would make it all 
right in time. Thus the hour of 
our parting came, and w'e both 
promised to be true until death, 
and I have never broken my 
word and I am sure she is just 
as loyal. I told her I would 
come or send for her when I 


229 


was free. When I returned to 
my boarding place, I found a 
note on the table written by 
George Castle, saying that he 
was going south and that I 
would never see him again. I 
was so angry at the time, I did 
not care and I prayed that I 
might never look upon his face 
again, and I never have, to this 
day. 

“Well, I stayed in Johnstown 
a year, then I returned home as 
mother was not well & wanted 
me. I returned alone. Everyone 
of course wanted to know what 
had happened to George Castle 
and why we had seperated, all 
to which I made no reply, except 
to say that he had gone south 
but I did not know exactly 
where, which was the truth. A 
230 


few days after I returned home, 
Lawyer Esden received a letter 
from George, postmarked Jack- 
sonville, Florida, and stating 
that he was in business and 
doing well. Esden wrote to him 
but the letter was returned. 
Several others wrote but received 
no answer. Time went by and 
Frank Greenfield and his wife 
died without ever knowing what 
had become of their adopted son. 
So much for all the love and 
kindness they had shown for 
him. O, well, I suppose it is 
of the world, but he might 
at least have written to them & 
sent them a few dollars now 
and then. 

“Two years later, my mother 
died, and just six months to the 
day, my father followed her, 
231 


and I was left alone. I could 
have gone to my wife, but I 
would not. No, I was so em- 
bittered with George Castle, 
everything and everyone was 
dead to me, and so I lived alone. 
I often thought of the one I 
loved in far-off Pennsylvania, 
and I am not ashamed to say 
I wept. Always I prayed that 
the time might come when I 
could claim her for my own 
and be happy again, but my 
prayers were not answ’ered— I 
suppose it was not to be. I had 
sinned, and must live out my 
days in punishment until I 
could learn how to be kind 
and forgiving to those who 
have been unjust to me; until I 
could see my own faults and 
short-comings as quickly as I 
232 


could see them in others. 

“Yes, I understand it all, 
now, Loran. I was still living 
under the shadow of a great sin 
and I knew that deep down in 
the depth of my heart I was as 
bad, yes, worse than George 
Castle had ever thought of being, 
for it was I in the first place 
that committed an almost un- 
pardonable sin, and then drew 
him into it by holding him to a 
promise to remain silent; then 
when he maddened me by 
letting the secret out, I cast 
him off forever.” 

Here John Martin broke down 
and sobbed, but Loran went to 
him, took his thin cold hand in 
strong warm ones and calmness 
returned to his storm-beaten soul 
and with it, renewed strength, 
233 


80 he went on with his story. 

“Yes, Loran, I prayed day and 
night and I wept, but there was 
no God to hear my prayer. I 
too, was an outcast and in my 
own home-town. Can you won- 
der why I have been dull and 
dreamy all these years, boy? 
Can you wonder that I know of 
no blessedness, save in you, 
lad?” 

For a few moments there w^as 
a stillness, and to John Martin 
it was like the stillness of death. 
He turned to Loran and looked 
him straight in the face. 

“O, Loran, have you never 
guessed?” he questioned. 

“Guessed what. Uncle John?” 

John Martin lowered his eyes 
and spoke almost in a whisper 
like one who had been severely 
234 


chastised & was now repentant. 

“Loran, I am your father.” 

“My father!” 

“Yes ” 

The young man dropped the 
hand he had been caressing and 
arose to his feet. He w^as pale 
as death. He staggared like a 
drunkan man. The floor un- 
dulated beneath his feet. In 
all his dreams he had never 
dreampt of this. Loran had 
always thought of John Martin 
as a well-to-do acquaintance 
of his mother, who had taken 
him in, out of pity «fe kindness. 

John Martin caught his hand 
and held to it as a drowning 
man grasps the hand of his 
rescuer. 

“Loran, for God’s sake listen 
until I am through. I didn’t 
235 


want to tell you this, God 
knows I didn’t, but you were 
bound to know it some day ai:d 
I had rather you would hear it 
from me, than from another. 
You must listen Loran, you 
shall! I will never let you go 
until I have finished!” 

‘‘Go on,” said Loran hoarsely. 

‘‘Loran, you are all I have in 
the world. Yes, boy, you are 
more to me than Eosemond! I 
swear it. You are my own flesh 
and blood. I was afraid to tell 
you this Loran — I was afraid I 
would lose you, but what else 
could I do? Listen Loran.” 

“I am listening.” 

“Loran,” pleaded John Mar- 
tin softly, beseechingly. 

That pleading voice, broken 
with bitter tears, humble with 


23G 


penitence, shattered the barriers 
of Loran’s anger, and throwing 
his arms about his father’s neck 
he wept with him. 

“Loran?” 

“Yes. dad.” 

“Thanks, my boy, thanks, 
Loran.” 

After a moment, John Martin 
went on with his story. 

“You were about ten years 
old when your mother wrote to 
me. She was dying of con- 
sumpsion. I went to her and 
she begged me to take you 
home with me and bring you 
up, and I consented, for as my 
parents were both gone, I could 
do it safely, and I was lonely 
and wanted someone to love and 
cheer me up, if such a thing 
could be possible. Surely, you 
237 


remember some of this, Loran.” 
The boy nodded his head and 
John Martin went on. “I urged 
you not to mention this to any- 
one — where you came from, no 
matter what they might say or 
think, and I believe you have 
done as I told you. I have never 
known you to disobey me in 
anything, Loran.” 

“Only the day I entered the 
‘best room,’ dad.” 

“No, Loran. You confessed 
that, and I forgave you. Always 
remember that when we forgive, 
it should be forgotten, bnt if 
remembered, never to be men- 
tioned or referred to again. 
Otherwise, it would not be a 
righteous pardon— forgiven.” 

Loran did not speak but he 
nodded in approval. 


238 


“You understand now, Loran, 
why I have let them believe 
you came from the Orphans’ 
Home. Of course you knew 
better, boy, but you would not 
disobey me, or add to my great 
unhappiness. Of course I might 
have brought you here openly 
as my son, but that would have 
entailed explanations, and the 
whole miserable story would 
have had to come out, & every 
right-thinking man would have 
dispised me as a poltroon and a 
coward. I treated your mother 
badly, I contemplated doing 
Rosemond the greatest wrong a 
man can do a woman, and I 
drove my best friend from me 
in unreasonable anger. So I 
have had to bear my cross in 
anguished silence, and have not 
239 


even dared to acknowledge you 
as my boy. O, God, how some 
of us have to suffer in life for 
our sins and dire mistakes ! 
I have made you suffer, too, 
Loran, and you are innocent. 
That was a deadly sin, the 
deadliest of all.” 

Again John Martin choked 
with sobs. 

“Uncle John— Fatherl” 

Still John Martin struggled 
with his grief until it mastered 
him, and the strong man wept 
like a child. 

Loran had once more governed 
himself — mastered his rebelling 
pride that had been tempered 
and tried so many times by the 
fires of Hell, but through his 
great love and kindness he had 
come out victorious with his 


240 


colors flying and a happy and 
contented heart. 

“Dad, I never guessed this, 
not even when I saw the three 
portraits on the wall in the 
sitting-room, the “best room.” 
Tell me all about it, dad. Noth- 
ing can seperate us now. We 
have lived & loved each other so 
long it must continue now to 
the end. I am and always will 
be your boy.” 

John Martin drew him to his 
breast and whispered: “This is 
Heaven enough for me, dear 
Lord!” 

He felt the cleansing, forgiv- 
ing power in his soul and was 
satisfied. 

In a few moments, Loran 
spoke of Rosemond. 

“Dad, have you ever heard 

241 


from Miss. Merritt?” 

‘‘No, Loran, not directly, but 
through a friend. Her parents 
are dead and she is living in 
Easton with an aunt.” 

“Why don’t you send for her, 
dad, as you promised?” 

“No, Loran, not now. I am 
not well, and I don’t want to 
burden her with an old sorrow, 
now that I can not go to her. 
The weight of her burden has 
been lifted and now that she is 
happy perhaps it is best that we 
should never meet again,” he 
said softly as he brushed aside 
a tear that was about to fall. 

Then, with Loran to lean upon, 
he walked through the garden, 
and as he went, he breathed a 
prayer of thanks that his con- 
fession had been, and his boy 
242 


still loved him. His fondest 
prayer had been answered. He 
smiled through his tears, the 
first smile in all the years of 
secret sorrow, and it seemed to 
his enraptured eyes that the 
flower-faces nodding along the 
trim walks smiled back at him 
in sympathy and understanding. 


243 


XII 

- LORAN WRITES TO 
ROSEMOND 

fJlHE next morning Loran 
arose at five o’clock as usual 
to help get the housework out 
of the way so that Uncle John, 
or his father, as he was now to 
call him, would not have so 
much to do. Loran was a great 
favorite among the hands at the 
mill, or had been, until within 
a week when some of the help 
began to call him the Orphan. 
Why they had begun to annoy 
him in this way he could not 
understand, and it worried him 
a great deal, perhaps more, 
because he could not see any 
reason for their new-born 
animosity. 


244 


“Well,” he soliloquized, “I 
can now speak out my mind 
and clear myself of that nick- 
name. At last,* I can vindicate 
my name and clear it of this 
scandle that has been growing 
all these years— but perhaps I 
had better wait a little and let 
Uncle — I mean father do it. Gee 
but I’ll have a time learning to 
say father, after all these years.” 
He was adjusting his tie before 
the mirror & was much surprised 
to see the change that had come 
over him. “Gee, I believe I am 
growing back ! I look like a 
seventeen-year-old boy.” 

He hurried his simple toilet 
and went down to the kitchen, 
and was surprised at not finding 
his father there. He went out 
to the garden and looked about 
245 


with some anxiety, and not find- 
ing him, returned to the house 
and rapped at John Martin’s 
door. 

“Loran, come in.” 

‘‘Dad, are you ill?” 

‘‘I guess I am a little under 
the weather, Loran, and when 
you go to work I wish you 
Avould stop and tell Grandma 
to come over.” 

‘‘Sure, dad.” 

‘‘You don’t know how happy 
I am to hear you call me dad, 
Loran. It seems like the twilight 
of my life had come, and God 
has made it glorious. And here 
I have been worrying half my 
life away dreading the time 
when I would have to tell you 
the truth ; when I would have 
to explain the whole miserable 
246 


farce again! God, how I have 
suffered,” he cried as he buried 
his face in his hands. 

The sun shone warm into the 
room and it was the beginning 
of another perfect day. A day 
of roses and sunshine, full of 
song and gladness and more 
than enough to out-weigh all 
the sorrow and sadness. God has 
made it so. A bird in the rose- 
bush under the window sang 
his sweetest carol and it seemed 
to quicken John Martin’s soul. 
Loran smiled as he listened and 
when the bird had flown, he 
spoke in answer to his father’s 
words. 

“That’s just it, dad. That is 
why life is so miserable to the 
most of us. We spend too much 
time in worry and anxiety. We 
247 


fret over things that never hap- 
en, cross bridges before we 
come to them, and dread to 
climb mountains that are only 
ordinary hills when we get to 
them. We torture ourselves too 
severely, sometimes. God meant 
that we should be happy but we 
are not willing to abide by His 
natural laws, the laws of nature, 
and instead of trying to enjoy 
what each day brings of blue 
skies and sunshine, we look into 
the future and try to see things 
that don’t exist. Only today, is 
intended for us to know, the 
future is not for our hands to 
fashion, and we should learn to 
wait and enjoy and be thankful 
for what we have. Surely, the 
Master knows how much we 
can bear.” 


248 


“Yes,” said John Martin 
thoughtfully. 

Loran seated himself on the 
edge of the bed & took the hot 
feverish hands within his own 
and a dreadful fear crept into 
his soul. He feared his dad was 
going to be seriously ill — that 
he had found a father only to 
lose him. 

“Dad, don’t you want me to 
stay at home today?” 

“No, Loran, I will be all 
right soon. Grandma will doctor 
me up again and we will talk 
over our future days— your 
happy days, Loran. Keep a 
brave heart, lad. The morning 
may be more beautiful, yet!” 

“All right dad, I will stop 
and tell Grandma to come over 
as soon as she can.” 


249 


He hastened his breakfast and 
was soon on his way with a 
troubled heart. He loved John 
Martin and he was afraid of 
this threatened illness. For a 
time, Loran forgot his words in 
regard to the Future that morn- 
ing. Quite an easy thing to do. 

He found Grandma & Meadis 
at breakfast. 

“Come right in Loran and 
have some breakfast.” 

“Thank you, Grandma, but I 
have had my breakfast,” he said 
as he entered and sank into a 
chair near the door throwing 
his hat on the floor. 

“But pray, child, what brings 
you here in such haste ? You 
are all out of breath and it is a 
quarter of seven — time you 
were at the mill.” 


250 


“Yes, Grandma, but father is 
ill and he wanted me to call 
and ask you to come over this 
morning.** 

“What?” 

“Father is ill and he wants 
you to come over — ’’ 

“Who?” she interrupted, feel- 
ing quite sure that her ears had 
deceived her. 

“O, I forgot. Grandma. He 
has told me all about it. There 
is no secret between us, now. 
He told me last evening.” 

“Well, I’m glad of it.” 

“Yes, Grandma, he told me, 
all. 

“My— but I’m glad John 
Smith didn’t happen to be here 
at the breakfast table — now 
Meadis, you see if you can keep 
your mouth shut. I almost wish 
251 


you had been out of the room 
when Loran came in, but you 
are a woman now and I hope 
you will remember your place. 
Yes, as I was sayin’, I’m glad 
John Smith didn’t happen to 
be here at the table. It ’aint 
very often he does sot down 
with us to breakfast, but it is a 
wonder he ’aint ’round when 
somethin’ is goin’ on that he 
hadn’t ought to know. But we 
must speak low for his room is 
directly over the kitchen and 
he might hear after all. 

“Well, I’m glad John told you, 
Loran, but he was waitin’ ’till 
you saw fit to merry, he told me 
so. He said that before you 
left him, he should tell you all 
about it. But if I were in your 
place, Loran, I don’t believe I 
252 


would mention it at the mill 
this mornin’. Better wait a 
little and let him tell it first.” 

‘‘Yes, Grandma, I was think- 
ing that that would be the best 
way, but I must be going. Now 
you will go over, won’t you 
Grandma?” 

‘‘Yes, Loran, I will go just 
as soon as I can get my things 
on. Don’t worry, I will take 
good care of him.” 

‘‘I won’t. Good-bye— good-bye 
Meadis. Say Meadis, 1 will see 
you this evening, sometime, but 
perhaps you had better come 
over to the house as I will have 
to stay with dad, you know.” 

‘‘All right, good-bye,” said 
Meadis as she went to the door 
and watched him out of sight. 

‘‘Meadis Bartlett,” said Grand- 


253 


ma sharply, “how many times 
have I told you never to watch 
any one out of sight.’’ 

“Why?’’ 

“Because, it’s unlucky, that’s 
why!” 

Meadis laughed but said noth- 
ing as she went about with her 
work. 

When Loran went home to 
dinner he did not find John 
Martin any better, and when 
night came, he was worse — he 
had a light fever. 

“Loran, I think we had better 
call a doctor,” said Grandma as 
she began to put on her things. 

“Do you think it is anything 
serious, Grandma?” 

“Not now, but there’s no 
knowin’ what may set in, and 
we had better be on the safe 


254 


side. It don’t pay to run too 
much risk. 

So the doctor was called. And 
he came again in the morning, 
but would not say very much 
about the case. 

As Loran stood watching his 
father as he lay with his eyes 
closed, a new thought entered 
his mind. 

“I know what I will do. I 
will send for dad’s sweetheart. 
It will do him more good than 
all the medicine the doctor can 
give him.” 

So he sat down and wrote, 
and for the time being, put self 
aside, and wrote to Rosemoiid 
Merritt as a stranger writes for 
another. It was a letter that 
told a story of love, a love that 
had never grown cold. 


255 


Friends come and go, but not 
so with love, for the love that 
is born of God can never die. 

Here is his letter. 

“Dear Miss. Merritt: 

My father lies at Death’s 
door, stricken with what I fear 
is brain-fever, though I am not 
sure, as the doctor will not say 
just what it is, but I am sure 
you are wanted. 

John Martin never loved 
but one womaii and that was 
you. He married my mother 
when he was a mere boy — 
a boyish fancy which he after- 
ward regretted, but what could 
he do? His parents were very 
bitter toward the French and 
their religion and he was obliged 
to keep his marriage a secret. 
He married my mother wholly 


for my sake, his child. You 
have been told that he had 

several children, but this was 

false; it was told you by a 
jealous companion. 

John Martin’s parents are 
dead and so is my mother. 
Mother died when I was about 
ten years old, and since then, I 
have lived here with dad; we 

have been chums together, dad 

and I, but it was only a few 
days ago that I learned the 

secret from his own lips, or I 
should have written to you 

before. He has told me all. 

Won’t you come? We need 
you. We have always needed 

you. 

I am enclosing a check 
for your expenses. Please come. 
My father has waited all these 
257 


long weary years— and so have 
you. It has been a noble love. 
Come. 

Sincerely, 

Loran Martin.” 

The next morning the doctor 
stated that John Martin had 
brain-fever and that he must 
have a trained nurse, so he 
brought one from the hospital 
at Laconia that evening. The 
patient continued to grow worse, 
and two days later he became 
delirious. 

Loran sat beside the bed 
holding his hot hand, when he 
suddenly began to call for one 
many miles away. 

“Rosemond, Rosemond, dear 
Roscmond, w'on’t you come to 
me now? I am so tired. I have 


climbed and climbed but the 
the mountain is so steep and 1 
am so weak and exhausted — I 
can go no farther. Please come 
Rosemond — please. Mother, won’t 
you plead with her. Mother! 
Mother I 

The tears ran down the boy’s 
cheeks as he gently touched his 
father’s burning brow. 

Instantly John Martin opened 
his eyes. The light was dim 
with the soft purple rays of 
twilight and he did not see 
clearly who was at his side. 

“Nurse,” he whispered with 
a faint smile, “that was like 
the touch of my mother’s hand.” 

Loran bathed the throbbing 
temples with his soft, cool hand 
and by and by the sufferer fell 
into a deep sleep. 

259 


Loran arose and went into the 
next room where Grandma and 
Meadis sat. While they were 
talking together in subdued tones 
a light rap sounded on the door 
and Loran opened it. A boy 
with a telegram stood on the 
step. 

Hastily tearing open the 
envelope he read the few words. 

“Yours received. Will come 
at once. 

Rosemond Merritt.” 

He read it again to make sure 
there was no mistake, then his 
eyes sparkled with delight. 

“O, Grandma, she’s coming!” 

“Who?” 

“Miss. Merritt, dad’s sweet- 
heart, who he has been waiting 
for all these years.” 

A kindly light lit up Grand- 


260 


ma*s eyes and a sweet expression 
lit up her handsome old face 
like the sunshine that breaks 
through the clouds after a long 
storm. Her apple-red cheeks 
crinkled into a smile. 

“This is some more of George 
Castle’s work,’’ she said softly 
to herself, and yet aloud, but 
not loud enough for Loran or 
Meadis to hear. “Poor fellow, 
he has a kind heart, after all. 
How he must have suffered all 
these years.” 

The tears gleamed like jewels 
in her eyes and ran down her 
faded and wrinkled cheeks. 

“What, tears. Grandma, and 
arn’t you glad she is coming?” 

“Yes, Loran, of course I am 
glad she is cornin’. These are 
only the tears of joy. Sure, I 
261 


am glad she is comiii’ !” and 
she brushed them aside with her 
apron. “The “best room” must 
be opened and aired and every- 
thin’ dusted and put in apple- 
pie order as he would have it.” 

A new light beamed in Loran’s 
large bright eyes. 

“Now I understand why dad 
had this room and the bedroom 
adjoining renovated only this 
last spring. He was prepairing 
for the coming of his bride.” 

“Yes, Loran, you have guessed 
right. I told him some time ago 
that you & Meadis were plannin’ 
on gettin’ married in the fall, 
so he began to get busy. Now 
in the niornin’ we will drop 
everythin’ and attend to this 
work for she will be here in 
two or three days and there is 
262 


not a nioineiit to lose. The nurse 
will take care of your father. 
That it is what she is hired for. 
Now if you w’ill put on your 
hat and go home with us, I 
think Meadis & I will be goin’.” 

Loran caught the little old 
lady in his arms and kissed her 
again and again. After telling 
the nurse he would not be gone 
more that half an hour, the 
three started out for the house 
of the “singing bottle.” 


263 


XIII 

ARGUMENTS 


RANDMA Bartlett & George 



Castle were in the pleasant 
sitting-room in the house of the 
“singing bottle,” The day had 
been warm, but the evening was 
cool and refreshing. Grandma 
was finishing some sheets and 
pillow slips to give Meadis as a 
wedding present, and George 
Castle was writing some business 
letters. Grandma was sitting 
near the window where she 
could see any one who might 
enter the yard. 

“It was good of you George 
to send for Miss. Merritt,” said 
Grandma looking over her glasses 
to see how he took it, for she 
felt that he must be surprised 


264 


to find out that she knew it. 

He was, somewhat surprised, 
but he was clever enough to 
conceal it. 

“So she is coming,” he replied 
keeping his eyes on his writing. 

“Yes, Loran expects her here 
by Thursday noon and he is 
goin’ to Lakeport to meet her. 
I am so glad she is cornin’. The 
doctor says the fever will turn 
by Thursday or Friday and he 
thinks if she can only be where 
John can see her, it will save 
his life. I hope and pray she 
will get here in time and she 
ought to if she starts at once 
and that is what she said in her 
letter, but we often make such 
promises when we really do not 
do just what we say— she may 
not have thought of starting 
265 


until today or tomorrow. And 
Loran, poor boy, is so anxious 
he has not shut his eyes for 
three nights, he is nearly heart- 
broken.” 

She waited a minute to give 
him a chance to speak but he 
kept on with his letters. 

‘‘George, when they are mar- 
ried, why don’t you go and ask 
their forgiveness and straighten 
up this tangle of trouble?” 

He dropped his pen and faced 
her pale and trembling. 

‘‘Mrs. Bartlett I have done 
nothing to ask forgiveness for. 
I told nothing but the truth. 
My tongue is not a crooked one 
as you suppose! I simply warned 
Miss. Merritt, by telling her 
that John Martin was already 
married and that he had a child 


266 


and that both wife and child 
were living. John Martin told 
her the same story the next day. 
I am no deeper in the mire 
than he is, and you know it. I 
admit that I was a coward to 
run away, but like him, I have 
returned. Has he ever told the 
people here at the Corners his 
secret? — No! neither have I. He 
has kept it most carefully hid- 
den from them, he has worn a 
mask — so have I with my dis- 
guise which I have been obliged 
to wear to shield him. Would 
you have me remove it and tell 
them the whole story? No! Then 
be careful of your judgement. 
I have come back to help make 
things straight again if such a 
thing is possible, but not to ask 
forgiveness, for I have not 
2G7 


wronged anyone. I simply warn- 
ed an innocent girl. I broke 
my promise and I was a coward 
to run away as I have already 
stated, and if I had it all to 
live over again and know what 
I know now, I would stay and 
face it, because we gain nothing 
by running away from trouble. 
Yes, Mrs. Bartlett I have sinned 
but I have never driven a poor 
innocent girl to her grave heart- 
broken simply because she was 
French and not of my religion. 
Religion — Bah! It is a mighty 
poor religion that can not stand 
every form of worship. And 
right here, perhaps it would not 
be out of place to speak a kind 
word in behalf of the dead; I 
mean John Martin’s wife. Rosa 
Levering was a saint; a dove in 
268 


the clutches of a handsome 
youth who admired her beauty; 
a child in a kennel of wolf- 
hounds in the guise of Christians 
who were fairly lolling for her 
sweet crimson blood. She became 
a mother and died with all the 
love of motherhood in her 
innocent soul. She loved John 
Martin and she died for him, 
and no greater love can we 
have than this. And because 
she loved him, she remained 
silent with a bleeding heart. 
How many wives would have 
done this?” 

“She was not fit to be his 
wife, George Castle!” 

“Then by the God who is the 
founder of your faith, where is 
Christianity ? If she was good 
enough to be the mother of his 
269 


child, she was good enough to 
be his wife!” 

Grandma was silent and he 
went on. 

“She was a Christian and she 
lived it out in the faith that 
was taught her from childhood, 
& if there are saints in Paradise, 
I am sure Rosa Levering is 
there. She is dead, and being 
dead, she lives in the soul of her 
child. Can you dispute that? 
No! It is the truth and you 
know it. Now I will return to 
John Martin and myself. You 
look upon him as Abel and 
upon me as Cain. Why is it 
that I am damned and John 
Martin goes scot-free? He came 
back and was wise enough to 
keep his mouth shut — so was I, 
but instead of coming back I 
270 


went away and settled down in 
business and became rich, but I 
would give every penny of it to 
buy back my friendship 
with John Martin, though I 
will never crawl in the dust to 
him, nor beg his forgiveness, 
and that is final, Mrs. Bartlett, 
and you can t^ll him so. I intend 
to stay here long enough to see 
Meadis and Loran married and 
then I shall return to the South 
for the rest of my days.” 

“But George, John thinks 
you lied about him.” 

“I know he does, but I didn’t. 
I only told the truth. Satan 
was called the Father of Lies 
when he told Adam and Eve in 
the Garden of Eden that they 
wouid not die if they partook of 
the Tree of Knowledge — ” 

271 


“But,” interrupted Grandma, 
“the Lord told them they would, 
didn’t He?” 

“Yes, but did they?” 

“Well — yes, they died spirit- 
ually.” 

“Yes, but they thought He 
meant physically.” 

“Well the Lord is not to 
blame for what they thought.” 

“Perhaps not, but it was 
deceiving them, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes,” she slowly answered 
searching her memory for some- 
thing to quote in defense. 

“Well, we call deceiving, 
another word for lying.” 

“Well, didn’t Satan deceive 
them, too?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well—” 

“Well, what have you gained? 

272 


Is one any worse than the other? 
Isn’t this a fine illustration of 
the affair that sunders John 
Martin and myself? Mrs. Bart- 
lett, John Martin would have 
married this Merritt girl in spite 
of Heaven or Hell, had I not 
spoken and put an end to it all. 
The Lord told Adam and Eve 
one thing and meant another. 
They did not fully understand 
and Satan tried to explain by 
telling them they would not die, 
but be like God knowing Good 
from Evil, which they did. That 
was not lying, it was explaining.” 

‘‘Yes, but they didn’t know 
Good from Evil.” 

‘‘That’s just it, but there had 
to be a sense of knowledge, 
didn’t there, even as it is with 
a little child.” 


273 


“But they shouldn’t have eat- 
en from the Tree of Knowledge 
after they had been warned.’’ 

“Wait, a moment, please. Now 
WHAT IS the Tree of Knowledge? 
Be reasonable” 

Suddenly a new light beamed 
in the old lady’s eyes. The glory 
of a new thought had blossomed 
for her. 

“O, I see! ihe understandin’ 
of things. The light of reason !’’ 

“Exactly.’’ 

She did not say any more, 
but busied herself with her 
sewing and George Castle once 
more returned to his letters. By 
and by she looked out into the 
garden as she heard the click of 
the gate-latch and saw Meadis 
and Loran enter the yard. 

She hurried her work into her 


274 


sleeping room just off the sitting- 
room, and warned George. 

“Quick, George, here comes 
Meadis and Loran.” 

He donned his disguise but 
not a moment too soon, when 
they stepped into the room. 

“Good evening. Grandma and, 
Mr. Smith,” said Loran. 

“Good evening, Loran,” said 
George Castle in return, as he 
arose and went into the garden. 
Somehow, he felt that his room 
would be more appreciated than 
his company. And he was right. 

He was not hardly out of the 
room when Grandma turned to 
Loran with a whisper: 

“Who is with your father?” 

“The nurse is there and I told 
her I would come right back as 
soon as I came home with 


275 


Meadis. I did not like to have 
her come alone, and besides, I 
have something I should have 
told you before, perhaps. It was 
I, who sent for Miss. Merritt, 
and not dad. 1 tried to get him 
to write to her but he thought 
he hadn’t better after all these 
years, so when I saw this com- 
ing illness I sat down and wrote 
to her and — ” 

“You! why, I thought it—” 
she checked herself. 

“ You thought it was who?” 
questioned Loran. 

“No matter w’ho I thought,” 
laughed Grandma throwing her 
arms around his neck and kiss- 
him on the cheek, a ruse to 
throw him off the the track 
which worked splendidly. 

George Castle watched them 

276 


from the garden with a sarcas- 
tical smile on his thin lips. 

“The kiss of Judas,” he said 
to himself, mockingly. 

“Well,” said Loran “I must 
hurry back for it is getting dark 
and the nurse is alone. 

After he had gone, Meadis lit 
the lamp and busied herself in 
the kitchen. George Castle once 
more returned to the sitting- 
room and took up his writing 
with Grandma at the window 
watching him and trembling 
with rage and indignation. 

“George Castle, why didn’t 
you tell me that you didn’t 
write the letter to Miss. Merritt?” 

“Because you didn’t ask. How 
did you think I knew what 
you were driving at?” he said 
without looking up from his 
277 


writing. “Besides I was so busy 
with my letters I didn’t pay 
much attention to what you 
were saying.’’ 

“Well, you should have said 
somethin’ when you found that 
I was talkin’ about somethin’ that 
didn’t concern you!’’ she snapped, 
mad through and through. 

“But it did, concern me Mrs. 
Bartlett,” he said, the color 
rising to his temples. “I don’t 
know why I am barred from 
everything that is going on, as 
though I had committed some 
hideous crime I I have done 
wrong— John Martin has done 
wrong, and I presume you have 
done wrong too, at least some- 
time in your life! Everyone has 
done wrong, yet everyone turns 
from me as though I was a 


viper! You seem to be in deadly 
fear that I may learn something 
ill regard to John. When I left 
the room only a few moment 
s-gOf you whispered to ask Loran 
who was with John Martin I” 

“How do you know?” 

“I heard it clear out in the 
garden.” 

“George Castle!” 

“It’s the truth. You were 
excited & you whispered louder 
than 3'ou intended. You remem- 
ber the window was open and 
I was not more than ten feet 
from you.” 

“Well, go on,” she said 
drumming nervously on the 
window-sill. 

“Everyone it this town thinks 
that Loran came from the 
Orphan’s Home, and if you are 
279 


so bent on the truth and know 
it, why don’t you come out and 
explain and shield the boy from 
the scandle that hangs to him.” 

She was silent. 

‘‘He is Rosa Levering’s child 
and John Martin is his father!” 

*‘I know it.” 

‘‘Yes, but why do you seem to 
bo so anxious to to keep it from 
the town’s people?” 

“Because it’s none of their 
business,” she snapped, the fire 
flashing in her sharp eyes. “You 
know the reason, George Castle. 
He did not want it to get to his 
mother, so we kept it as quiet 
as possible.” 

“Yes, that was the reason 
years ago, but John Martin’s 
parents have been dead ten or 
twelve years, and there can be 
280 


no just reason for making that 
boy suffer because his father 
had made a fool of himself in 
his younger days. It is, and 
always has been a mystery to 
me to understand how such pious 
people can keep up their faith 
in Heaven as a hereafter, and 
be filled with such deviltry. 
By the gods! if John Martin 
don’t unfurl his colors pretty 
soon. I’ll do it for him. 1 am 
getting mighty sick of this 
damnable farce.” 

“Had it concerned anyone, I 
presume I should have told 
them,” commenced Grandma 
thoughtfully, “and had I known 
you to be George Castle instead 
of John Smith, I should have 
told you everythin’ when you 
first came home. You should 


281 


have revealed yourself to me 
before, George.” 

“Tonight, John Smith will 
pass out of this life forever, and 
in the morning George Castle 
will be at the Corners again.” 

“But what about Meadis and 
Luran ?” 

“What does it matter? They 
will have to know sometime.” 

“Yes, George, but you know 
w’e had planned to give them a 
grand surprise on their w’eddin’- 
day. And you have kept it from 
them so long, please wait a little 
longer, besides, John is seriously 
ill. Wait, at least until he re- 
covers,” she said tenderly as 
she arose from where she had 
been sitting by the window and 
went over to him. “I am sorry 
George, that I spoke as sharply 
282 


as I did, but I was provoked. I 
thought it was you, who had 
wrote the letter and when Loran 
told me it was himself who did 
it, I was mortified almost to 
death. George, I have not fully 
understood you until tonight. 
You are as dear to me as John 
is. My poor motherless boys, 
how you both have suifered!” 

He arose and folded her to his 
breast. 

“Yes, Grandma, you have 
been a mother to us both, and 
kinder than we ever deserved. 
We have both sinned, John and 
I, and have been sufficiently 
punished, and I trust we shall 
soon come out into the sunshine 
again and once more be happy. 
And until the clouds have all 
passed, I will keep in the dark. 

283 


I have been walking blindly 
so long, a few days or weeks will 
not matter much, but tell me. 
Grandma, does John know who 
I am?” 

“Yes.” 

‘‘Who told him?” 

‘‘Nobody, he guessed it.” 

The joy of understanding and 
of being understood flooded his 
darkened soul like the golden 
dawn of a summer day. 

He smiled. 


284 


XIV 

KOSEMOND ARRIVES 


rpHURSDAY morning Loran 
went to the livery-stable and 
secured the best team they had; 
he then drove to Lakeport to 
meet Rosemond Merritt who was 
due on the noon train. 

He reached the station just as 
the train was coming in and he 
watched the passengers as they 
emerged from the cars. 

“I shall know her,” he said 
to himself as he got down by 
the carriage. 

Rosemond stepped from the 
parlor car and saw him standing 
by his carriage watching the 
merry crowd of passengers, and 
knew it was Loran. He did not 
see her until she touched him 
285 


lightly on the arm. 

“You are Loran?’’she inquired. 

“Yes, pardon me,” he replied 
tipping his hat. “I thought I 
should recognize you first,” 
with a smile. 

Something in that handsome 
young face, touched her soul. 
Was it the likeness of John 
Martin ? No, he did not look 
like his father, though of course 
there was a resemblance, and he 
had a beauty all his own, a 
grace and air of breeding that 
appealed to women. 

Before she realized what she 
was doing, she had kissed him 
full on the lips. 

“I am so glad to see you, my 
dear, j'ou are the image of your 
father, as I first saw him in the 
years gone by, but of course he 
286 


has changed, yet he is the 
same — ” she checked herself and 
brushed aside the tears that 
misted her eyes. 

“Am I in time?” she inquired 
as she stepped into the carriage. 

“Yes, the doctor says the fever 
will not turn before evening 
and I am so glad you are here 
for he has been calling for you 
constantly. He has been dreadful 
ill, but we hope your coming 
will bring him back to health 
again.” 

“Whom will I meet at the 
house, Loran?” 

“Grandma Bartlett will be 
there — ” 

“Who?” she interrupted. 

Loran laughed. 

“I forgot. You see, we call her 
grandma because she has always 
287 


known dad and really I have 
never known any other grandma; 
and she is grandma to every- 
one at the Corners.” 

“O, I see; she is not a grand- 
ma by relation.” 

“No,” he replied with a smile, 
“only by affection. You will 
also meet Meadis, my bride-to-be 
in one short month.” 

“Then we are going to Icse 
you, Loran. I hoped you would 
be with us always.” 

“And so I will. Meadis and I 
will live only a few steps away, 
and we shall be back and forth 
every day or so, we shall be 
neighborly, I assure you, for I 
could not think of leaving dad.” 

“And now, tell me of your 
father. Has he been well of 
late? You know I have not 
288 


heard of him in years,” she 
said her voice dropping to a 
whisper. 

“Yes, father has been well 
up to within a week or two ago, 
when he began to sort of pine 
away in spirit. I think he knew 
of this coming illness. Miss. 
Merritt, for he has had a hard 
time to keep up, and w'hen he 
learned that Meadis and I was 
to be married soon, he just 
broke down, and told me the 
whole story. It was a shock to 
me, for I had never known or 
heard one syllable that would 
lead me to suspect such a thing. 
The next day he was stricken 
with fever. We did not think 
much of it at first, but as he 
began to grow worse, we com- 
menced to fear for his life, and 
289 


when he began to call for you, 
I was glad I wrote to you the 
day before. Dad had told me of 
you when he was telling me 
the story of his past life, or 
I would not have known where 
to reach you. O, what a grand 
surprise it will be for him ! 
It will be like the opening of 
Heaven to his weary heart. 
Miss. Merritt.” 

Miss. Merritt was silent and 
the tears gleamed in her eyes. 
Her thoughts went back over 
the years when she and John 
Martin had been so happy in 
dear old Johnstown, the home 
of her birth. Her mother was 
living then, and she too, had 
learned to love John Martin 
with all a mother’s love, and 
before she died, said to Rose- 
290 


mond, “be patient dear, for 
someday he will send for you.” 
Now that the time had come, 
sweet with so much of love and 
remembrance, she seemed to live 
it all over again. The lavender 
of memory is always sweet, but 
now, it was like balm to her 
tired heart. How changed things 
were. The years had passed; the 
summers had come & gone; the 
roses had blossomed and died, 
and still she had waited and 
loved and suffered, and all 
because two men had sinned a 
foolish sin. 

And now after twenty years, 
John Martin was to claim his 
promised bride. Does it pay to 
wait? Yes, for the love that 
can endure & wait for fulfilment 
as patiently & blindly as Rose- 
291 


mond had waited and loved, 
must be genuine, and such a 
love is richly rewarded. 

“The years have been long,” 
said Eosemond, “but God has 
been good to us, and now we 
shall be happy together the rest 
of our days.” She opened a 
locket suspended by a slender 
gold chain and revealed two 
tiny portraits. 

“Tell me Loran, do you know 
who these two people are?” 

A look of surprise passed over 
his face as he looked upon the 
pictures from which the crayons 
in the “best room” had been 
made. 

“Why, one is dad and the 
other is George Castle, dad's 
chum who went to Pennsylvania 
with him more than twenty 
292 


years ago. George Castle dis- 
appeared and has not been seen 
or heard of since.” 

When they reached the house 
Grandma and Meadis were at 
the gate to receive them. 

“My dear, I am glad to 
welcome you home,” said the 
kind old lady with outstretched 
arms and Kosemond went to her 
embrace as a child weary and 
tired of its play goes to its 
mother. 

Rosemond had craved the 
shelter of a mother’s love, many 
years. Aunt Hannah was good 
to her in many ways but she 
did not possess that gentle loving 
spirit that one craves for when 
weary and heart-sick and sad. 
But in Grandma Bartlett she 
knew at once she had found all 
293 


she needed, for Grandma had 
been a mother to motherless 
children all the days of her life 
and gloried in having everyone 
call her grandma. When anyone 
was worried or troubled, they 
found in her a haven of rest 
until the storm of adversity or 
sorrow had passed and they 
could once more bear the light 
of day. She was certainly all 
they could ask for as a sympath- 
izer and a practical friend.* 

“Come in, dear, you must be 
tired to death. I have a nice 
cup of tea and a little lunch 
for you,” said Grandma leading 
the way into the house. 

As they entered the dining- 
room the doctor came out of 
John Martin’s room. 

“Is this the lady you were 


294 


expecting, Mrs. Bartlett?” he 
inquired. 

‘‘Yes, doctor, this is Miss. 
Merritt from Pennsylvania.” 

The doctor bowed. 

“If you will come into the 
room now. Miss. Merritt, I think 
Mr. Martin will know you.” 

Rosemond did not stop to 
remove her hat, but stripped the 
gloves hastily from her hands, 
threw back her veil and followed 
the doctor into the room with 
Grandma and Meadis behind 
her. John Martin lay rolling 
his head this way and that in 
agony, his face drawn and 
unshaven, yet to Rosemond, he 
was the handsome lover of olden 
days. She went to him and 
placed her hand upon his fore- 
head. Slowly, but surely he 
295 


became easier and quieter. 

“John, dear, don’t you know 
me? It is Rosemond. John, 
John,’’ she cried as she threw 
herself upon the bed and clasped 
him in both arms. “John, I 
have come to you!” 

Slowly he opened his eyes. A 
smile crept over his face, and 
he weakly tried to fold her to 
his breast and kiss her plead- 
ing tear stained face. She bent 
down until her lips touched his 
in a kiss divine. 

“Rosemond, can it be you 
after so many years, or have I 
died and gone to Heaven?” 

“John, it is Heaven enough 
to be together once again, isn’t 
it?” 

“Yes, dear, it is enough,” he 
whispered faintly. 

296 


He sank into a drowsy state, 
half sleeping and half waking, 
& Rosemond became frightened, 
fearing that he was dead. She 
began to talk and call loudly 
to him. 

“John, John! O, God, I have 
killed him.” 

“Wait a moment, Miss. Merritt. 
He is not dead, but exhausted. 
John Martin will live.” It was 
the doctor’s soothing voice that 
calmed her agitation, & glorified 
her soul with hope. 


297 


XV 

ROSEMOND AND JOHN 
MARTIN 

rjlHREE weeks passed and John 
Martin was convalescing 
rapidly under the gentle care of 
Rosemond and Loran. Ho was a 
new man. Indeed God had pre- 
formed another miracle. All his 
dreamy self -absorption & moody 
melancholy had gone forever, 
and life and love had done 
wonderful things for him. Every 
day when it was warm and 
sunny Loran wheeled him in the 
invalid-chair into the garden 
and Rosemond would take her 
sewing and they would sit and 
talk of the happj’, sunny days 
yet to be. The days that were 
so full and rich with promises 
of happiness. 


298 


“Rosemond, it doesn’t seem 
that we had been married nearly 
three weeks, does it.” 

“No, John, but we have, and 
I am so happy.” 

“I am glad, Rosemond, but I 
was afraid it was never meant 
for us to meet again.” 

“Why?” 

“Because the best part of life 
is gone.” 

“No, John. Today, and the 
others that are to follow are the 
best. We must not think of the 
past, but look forward with a 
glad heart to the rich possibilities 
that lie before us. We have 
much to be thankful for, yet, 
my dear.” 

“Yes, and Loran, I am glad 
that it is as it is, for his sake. 
He is yet young and he too, is 
299 


filled with this great happiness 
that comes into life like the 
sunshine in the wake of a terrible 
storm." 

‘‘And he ought to be, with 
such a charming little creature 
as Meadis." 

“You are right, Eosemond." 

“John, do you know where 
George Castle is?" 

“Why, yes, my dear, he is 
here at the Corners." 

“Why, Loran told me — " 

“Neither Meadis nor Loran 
knows of this, Eosemond. He is 
here under the assumed name of 
John Smith and is living at 
Grandma’s under a disguise. No 
one but Grandma and you and 
I, Eosemond, know of this, but 
on the evening of Loran’s and 
Meadis’ wedding day, George is 
300 . 


going to reveal himself, and 
we are invited to be present. I 
dread this meeting somehow, 
after so many years, but I will 
have to face it someday, and I 
suppose one day is as good as 
another.” 

‘‘Yes, John, and we must for- 
give him.” 

‘‘Forgive him! My dear, there 
is nothing to forgive. We have 
sinned & we have been punished. 
We all make mistakes and we 
must be willing to forgive them 
in others if we ever expect to 
have our own forgiven. It is 
the only way, Rosemond. The 
heart that knows how to over- 
look errors in others, is the one 
that knows what real happiness 
is, but for many of us, it takes 
years to see this truth in the 
301 


true light. It has taken me more 
than twenty years, and even 
now I find it is indeed a road 
to Gethsemane.” 

“John, you are right. When 
we can feel sorry for others that 
have harmed us, it is then we 
forgive, but it must be gratis — 
without the asking.” 

“Yes, Eosemond, that is the 
idea and we must try and live 
it out the rest of our days.” 

“So you see dear, the best 
days are yet before us — the 
happy days are yet to come. W^’e 
have lived, but how? We have 
not been happy unless it was in 
the dreams of the future when 
we should be together. We have 
been blest even in the midst of 
our sorrow, for God scatters the 
sunlight upon the evil and the 
302 


good, and we have had the 
flowers and the songs of happy 
birds and we have had many 
things to be really thankful for; 
I am sure that when we learn 
the great lesson, to be kind and 
gentle & to overlook the sorrow- 
ful mistakes in others that have 
perhaps bitterly marred our own 
happiness, we shall know that 
this, is the real Garden of Eden 
and that we are living in the 
very midst of the glories of 
Paradise.” 

She slipped her hand in his as 
she continued. 

“We have been punished for 
all that we have done that was 
evil, and I believe we have 
been rewarded likewise for the 
good we have done, and I am 
sure that our greatest happiness 
303 


is the consciousness of knowing 
we have done what is right.” 

A bird perched in the top of 
a near-by apple-tree began 
to sing, and to them, it was the 
sweetest song they had ever 
heard. They sat and listened & 
dreamed as one does who has 
entered his holy of holies to pray 
and meditate and try to solve 
some of the problems of life that 
are constantly unfolding before 
him. 

Loran entered the gate and 
when he saw the two, he removed 
his hat and stood and listened, 
too. Neither his father nor Eose- 
mond had noticed him, so after 
a few moments he turned back 
and entered the house by the 
side door, while the bird sang on 
in the top of the old apple-tree. 
304 


“Dear old dad,” he said to 
himself as the door closed behind 
him, “he has once more found 
his heart.” 

Loran went to his room and 
took from his treasure box his 
mother’s picture and rosary. 
He studied the face long, and 
the tears came into his eyes. 

“Mother, I have kept the faith. 
I am still your boy, and God is 
with me.” He kissed it as he 
had done many times before, 
ever since she had died and 
gone away. He placed it back 
carefully and took up the rosary, 
crossed himself and said his 
beads— his prayers. 

He then went back down 
stairs as he remembered he had 
a letter for Rosemond that he 
305 


had taken from the office on his 
way home from the mill. He 
went into the garden and gave 
it to her. 

“O, thank you Loran.” 

He smiled. 

“John, it is a letter from aunt 
Hannah.” 

“Loran,” said John Martin, 
“while Rcsemond is reading her 
letter you may wheel me into 
the house if you will.” 

“Yes, dad.” 

“You need not leave on my 
account, John.” 

“I know it, dear,” he replied 
with a smile and a wave of his 
hand. 

Ilosemond opened the letter 
eagerly and read its contents. 
But the roses in her cheeks 
faded a little as she read, and 
306 


she was glad that John and 
Lioran had gone into the house. 
This is what she read. 

“Dear Rosemond: 

I have missed you so much 
these days, and I am afraid 
the flowers have too, for I 
have been so lame, 1 have 
not been able to attend to 
them as you used to, and I 
am sure that the “shut-ins” 
miss you, too. 

Dear, I have bad news to 
write. Milton Ashbury is 
dead. He was found dead 
in one of the mines up in 
Alaska, stabbed through the 
heart. His parents are 
heart-broken. 

The body is being sent 
home. 

Well, dear, I am glad you 

307 


and John are married and 
that he is on the road to 
health and happiness again. 

I know you are happy and 
so I am happy, too. 

Maybe I can come and see 
you next summer, if you 
want me to. Good-bye. 

Your loving aunt 

Hannah.” 

For some moments Eosemond 
sat with the letter in her lap & 
her eyes cast down in deep 
thought. It was all so sudden. 

“Milton Ashbury is dead,” 
she whispered, “and so there is 
nothing to fret about, now. I 
was afraid he might come here 
and John would learn how he 
had been making love to me. 
His parents, I am sorry for 
them, but I suppose it was so to 
308 


be. God knows what is best.” 

She gathered up her sewing 
and went into the house. Her 
new-made husband noticed her 
pallor. 

“Bad news, Rosemond?” 

She smiled faintly. 

“Yes, a friend of aunties’ has 
passed away. He leaves a father 
and mother and many friends 
to mourn him.” 

“And you, my Rosemond — 
wasn’t he a friend to you, too? 
Don’t be afraid to speak your 
heart, my dear. I know he was 
never your lover— not that, for 
you were made in Paradise for 
me. He may have longed for 
your caresses— he may have 
hoped to win you, but it was 
impossible, you — ” 

“Don’t John,” she cried as 


309 


she sank to his feet and hid her 
face in his lap and wept. 

“Then I was right?” 

“Yes, John, he was my friend, 
but never a lover. I never loved 
but one, and that was John 
Martin. 

He was silent. 

“John, do you doubt me?” 

“No, Rosemond, I believe all 
you say. VVe were made for 
each other in Paradise, else we 
would not have waited all these 
years. This Milton Ashbury 
was your friend, and we must 
never fail to pay our respect to 
friendship, it is too rare a gift, 
Rosemond.” 

Loran was up stairs singing. 
The blood chilled in her heart. 
It was Milton Ashbury’s favorite 
hymn. Where did Loran learn it. 
310 


He was of the Catholic faith. 
Sweet and clear the words came 
sweeping over her soul. 

“Swift to its close ebbs 
out life’s little day, 

Earth’s joys grow dim, 
its glories pass away; 

Change and decay in all 
around I see, 

O, Thou who changeth not, 
abide with me.” 

“John, where did Loran learn 
that hymn?” 

“Up at Grandma’s. Meadis 
and Loran sing together 
beautifully.” 


311 


XVI 

LORAN’S FAITH 


^yHAT, married by a Catholic 
priest?” said Rosemond 
when she learned of Loran’s 
marriage arrangments. 

‘‘Yes, Rosemond, Loran has 
been brought up in the faith, 
and I have never interfered. He 
was with his mother until he 
was about ten years of age, and 
she brought him up as any 
mother would, in the faith she 
herself had been taught.” 

“But he is your child, too, 
isn’t he, John?” 

“Yes, he is my boy and I 
love him, and because I love 
him, I have never interfered 
with his religious ideas. I will 
not try to draw him away from 
312 


the mother who bore him and 
reared him to the best of her 
knowledge. He is my boy, but 
he is his mother’s boy, too.” 

“But can’t you see — ” 

“Rosemond, I tell you I shall 
never meddle with Loran’s 
affairs. He is no longer a boy. 
He is a man and capable of 
managing his own affairs, and 
I think too much of him to 
interfere with his religous belief 
now. So please let the matter 
drop !” 

“John, I did not mean to be 
unkind, but I spoke as I thought. 
Yes, Loran is a good boy, and I 
love him too, and I hope some- 
day to hear him call me mother.” 

“Rosemond, don’t! Don’t try, 
I beseech you. I know you 
mean well, my dear, but you 
313 


do not understand. Loran has 
always been deeply attatched to 
his mother & no one could for an 
instant take her place with him. 
I would not consent to your 
trying. We must be contented 
to love him as he is, and be 
grateful for what measure of 
love he can give in return. 
Listen while I read to you a 
little poem — The Stepmother. 

“The marriage rites were 
over, 

And though I turned 
aside 

To keep the guests from 
seeing 

The tears I could not 
hide, 

I wreathed my face in 
smiling, 

And led my little 


314 


brother, 

To greet my father’s 
chosen, 

But I could not call her 
mother. 

“She was a fair young 
creature, 

With meek and gentle 
air. 

With blue eyes soft and 
loving, 

And silken sunny 
hair. 

I know my father gives 
her 

The love he bore 
another, 

But if she were an 
angel, 

I could not call her 
mother. 


315 


‘‘They’ve borne my mother’s 
picture 

From its accustomed 
place, 

And hung beside my 
father, 

A younger, fairer 
face. 

They’ve made her dear old 
chamber. 

The boudoir of 
another, 

But I will not forget 
thee, 

My dear, my angel 
mother, 

“My father in the 
sunshine 

Of happy days to 
come. 

May half forget the 


316 


sliadow 

That darkened our dear 
home. 

his heart no more is 
lonely, 

But I and little 
brother 

Must still be orphan 
children, 

God gives us but one 
mother.” 

‘‘I trust you understand me 
now, Rosemond.” 

“Yes,” she said softly. 

‘‘This is the way Loran looks 
at our marriage and he is making 
a brave heart of it, and we 
must respect and cherish the 
sacred memory that burns like a 
living fire on the altar of his 
heart. The poem is not the full 
meaning of my life, Rosemond, 
317 


God forbid, it could not be. 
What is gone is gone, but one 
can not forget. Even Time will 
not allow that. I confess dear, 
that Rosa was never to me what 
you are and what you have 
been all these years — she could 
not be, Bosemond, else I would 
not have waited for you all this 
while. It was a boyish fancy, 
but she was Loran’s mother and 
I would not be human if I did 
not love my boy. Don’t mis- 
understand me, listen. If Bosa 
had been dearer than you are to 
me, I should never have gone to 
Pennsylvania & we would not 
have known each other, you 
and I. I have never really loved 
but one woman, Bosemond, and 
that is you. I recited the poem 
simply that you might under- 
318 


stand how tenderly and passion- 
ately Loran cherishes the memory 
of his mother, and after seeing 
the real depth of his devotion, I 
am sure you would not care to 
take it from him, w'ere it 
possible.” 

“No, John, and I admire his 
loyalty, for I too know what it 
is to cherish the memory of a 
mother, but I did I'Ot know just 
how it was with Loran. Yes, it 
must be as you say, we must be 
satisfied with what measure of 
love he can give us And in 
regard to his religion, it is the 
same. I shall endeavor to try 
and keep him faithful in the 
faith, rather than to teach him 
another.” 

“I am glad you understand, 
Eosemond, and I am sure we 
319 


shall all be very happy together. 
It doesn’t make so much differ- 
ence what one’s religion is, so 
long as he or she is kind and 
gentle and patient and has 
learned to bear and forbear, for 
there are many creeds & beliefs, 
and there is a large amount of 
good in them all, yet it would 
be impossible for anyone to 
accept them all, and as we each 
have different views of the 
acceptance of things, I think 
we each should be left to make 
our own individual choice.” 

“Yes, dear, but you know 
there has always been a great 
difference in regard to the 
Catholic faith.” 

“Among the Protestants, yes. 
They do not agree with the 
Catholics, no, and how can they 
320 


when they can not agree among 
themselves? We have a fine 
priest here, Rosemond, and he 
is doing much for the benefit of 
the people, and he has a large 
number of friends even among 
the Protestants, too.” 

“I know,” replied Eosemord, 
thoughtfully, “but—” 

“Only this morning— pardon 
me for interrupting.” 

“Go on,” she smiled. 

“Only this morning, Oakley 
Esden, our town lawyer called 
to tell me that he did not 
approve of the marriage between 
Loran and Meadis by a priest. 
But why? I inquired. Loran 
belongs to Father Rodney’s 
church, and why should he not 
be married there? He then went 
on to say that I ought to put 
321 


a stop to such doings I laughed 
at him and told him Loran was 
of age and had the right to act 
as he pleased, and that I should 
not step between him so long as 
he was manly and upright and 
true.” 

“What did he say, John?” 

“O, I don’t recall all that 
ho said, tut he went away 
muttering something about my 
being a disgrace to the town and 
the country and the like. But 
what’s the use of listening to 
such men when they are not 
one half as good as the ones 
they are talking about. Such 
folks are of little worth, my 
dear.” 

“Who is this Oakley Esden, 
John?” 

“He is the big dog of the 
322 


place — I mean the great man «)f 
the town. What he doesn’t 
know isn’t worth knowing, and 
what he doesn’t approve of, is 
punk. He is very rich rumor 
says, and what rumor don’t 
know in a country village is, as 
Toots says ‘of no consequence.’ 
He is a justice of the peace and 
known as the squire. He is 
supposed to be a very honest 
and reliable man, to whom you 
could lend your money without 
taking note or receipt, only 
don’t lend your money that 
way. He is a member of one of 
the — Protestant churches. So you 
see, my dear, that the Protest- 
ants are not all living up to the 
standard, either.” 


323 


XVII 

THE WEDDIXG 


fpHE fifteenth of October was 
a glorious golden day; the 
wedding day of Meadis and 
Loran. Everything was in 
readiness and Meadis looked 
charming in her new gown 
that Grandma had given her as 
one of her wedding gifts. She 
wore an exqusite cameo on 
her bosom— one that her own 
mother had worn on her wedding 
day, seemingly, only a few years 
before. Grandma had found it 
among her daughter’s possessions 
in the attic, the day before. 
“This will be the most fitting 
for the occasion and will go well 
with the low-neck gown. Some- 
day I will give Meadis the rest 
324 


of the things,” she said kindly 
as she looked upon a faded 
picture of a young man and 
woman in the bloom of life. 

At the home of John Martin, 
everything was much the same. 
Loran came down to breakfast 
smiling as usual. John Martin 
met him in the hall. 

“So today I am going to lose 
my boy.” 

“No, dad, I shall still be 
your boy. I shall be here at 
home with you much of the 
time and help with the farm- 
ing just as I have always done. 
We are chums for life, dad, you 
and I. Aren’t you glad with 
me, dad?” 

“Yes, Loran, I am always glad 
when you are happy,” said John 
Martin as he took from his vest- 


325 


pocket a slender band of gold. 
“Loran here is your mother’s 
wedding-ring. She gave it to me 
before she died; the day I took 
you home with me. You remem- 
ber, don’t you?” 

Loran nodded. He could not 
speak; his heart was too full. 
He took the ring and looked 
upon it reverently. 

“Mother.” 

Tears were in his eyes, and 
John Martin drew him to his 
breast and brushed back his 
thick dark hair. 

“No tears today, Loran. It is 
your wedding day. We must 
not dream of the past any more. 
We have had enough of sorrow, 
and what is gone is gone. We 
must try and be happy for 
others, now.” 


326 


“Yes, dad, what is gone is 
gone, except niy mother’s spirit. 
She is with me always.” 

“I do not doubt it Loran. But 
come, let us go to breakfast, for 
it is nearly half-past eight.” 

Rosemond met them when 
they entered the dining-room. 
She looked like a queen in her 
gown of old rose rich with deep 
lace, & Loran could not refrain 
from telling her so, and compli- 
menting her ou her splendid 
appearance that morning, which 
was of all mornings, the fairest 
to him. 

“Rosemond, you are very 
beautifull” 

“Thank you, Loran,” she 
replied as they took their places 
at the table. 

The dainty meal was quietly 

327 


passed, and when it was over, 
the three went into the garden 
where Eosemond gathered a 
large bouquet of white asters 
that she had been protecting 
from the frost. 

“Loran, when you go up to 
Grandma’s, I wish you would 
take these along with you. I told 
her I would send them up for 
the table and if she puts them 
in the cellar they will be 
splendid this evening.” 

“All right Eosemond.” 

The noon hour arrived and 
Meadis and Loran were married 
at the pretty vine-clad home of 
Father Eodney. It was a quiet 
wedding with no one there but 
John Martin and Eosemond and 
Grandma. 

But in the evening, oh, what 

328 


a crowd had gathered at the 
house of the “siiigiug-bottle” 
on the hill. All the mill hands 
were there to serenade them, & 
everyone in the village had 
drifted there until the throng 
looked for all the world like 
bees around a hive. They ham- 
mered on tin pans and saws and 
everything they could get hold 
of to make a regular Bedlam. 

After the turmoil had passed 
when Loran had appeared at the 
door with his bride and thanked 
them, John Martin appeared. 
He was a little pale perhaps, 
and his voice was husky, but he 
spoke loudly— John Martin was 
a man who feared no one. 

“Friends, one moment, please. 
I wish to speak to you. I am 
glad to see you here this even- 
329 


ing for two reasons. One is 
because it shows your friendship 
and esteem for Meadis & Loran, 
and the other is to tell you who 
Loran is. There has been rumor 
here at the Corners that he came 
from the Orphans’ Home. This 
is not true. Loran is my own 
boy ! Listen. Twenty five year 
ago, I was secretly married to 
Kosa Levering of Gilford. I say 
secretly, because my folks were 
bitter toward the French people 
and all whom were of the 
Roman Catholic faith. But I 
loved, or thought I did, and in 
my boyish fancy I married her 
unknown to my parents. I have 
always supported my son, long 
before I took him into my care, 
which I did on the death of his 
mother, and I continued to 
330 


support him until he was able 
to support himself. His mother 
died soon after my parents, and 
this enabled me to bring him 
home, and you know the rest.” 

As John Martin was about to 
withdraw, John Smith appeared 
at his side. 

‘‘Friends, I too, have a word 
to say. It has been a great 
question here at the Corners as 
Avho this stranger, John Smith 
was. Well I will relieve your 
minds. Look!” He tore the dis- 
guise from his face. 

“George Castle!” exclaimed 
Oakley Esden who was in the 
foreground of the crowd and 
near the steps. 

“Yes, Oakley Esden. You are 
a mighty shrewd lawyer, I 
admit, and you boasted you 
331 


would find out who I was, but 
you didn’t succeed until I chose 
to tell yoii, did you? 

“Friends, I am a stranger to 
the most of you, but here and 
there, I see a familiar face who 
seems to remember me, and it 
seems good, too, for I used to 
live hear at the Corners with 
my foster parents, Frank Green- 
field and his wife at the old 
brick house on Main street. 
John Martin and I have been 
chums ever since we were boys. 
Frank Greenfield and his wife 
adopted me, having taken me 
from the Orphans’ Home when 
I was a small child, so you see 
I do not remember my own 
parents. All I have in the world 
to really love and care for me, 
are John Martin and Grandma 


332 


Bartlett. Here Grandma, come 
into the doorway and show 
yourself to the crowd. Now 
don’t be bashful, come along.” 
Everybody cheered as Grandma 
came out. ‘‘That’s good! Friends, 
Grandma has been a mother & 
grandmother to the whole town. 
Now let’s give her three more 
good cheers, altogether— now !” 
The air was filled with a volly 
of merry voices in respond to 
his desire. When there was a 
lull, he spoke. ‘‘Now there is 
one more I want you to welcome 
here at the Corners. John 
Martin’s wife, who was Rose- 
mond Merritt of Pennsylvania. 
Come, Rosemond, everything 
must be done up square this 
evening. Everyone must know 
who’s who.” Rosemond came 


333 


and stood by the side of her 
husband. Once more the crowd 
cheered until the whole place 
rang with mirth and merriment 
and honest joy. 

After awhile, the crow’d was 
invited into the house where ice 
cream and cake were served and 
everyone had a fine time and 
went home wishing them all a 
happy and prosperous life. 

When they were all gone and 
Grandma and George Castle, 
Meadis. and Loran, John Martin 
and Bosemond had gatherad into 
the little sitting-room to enjoy 
a moment among themselves. 
Grandma said smiling: 

“My dears, everythin’ was 
done splendidly and just as I 
would have wished. George, I 
am proud of you, and John my 
334 


boy, I am proud of you, too. 
Kosemond, you have missed 
nothin* by waitin’ all these 
years. All things come to those 
who wait.” 

‘‘Yes, Grandma,” said Rose- 
mond smiling. 

“We all have our crosses to 
bear,” said Grandma, “but when 
we bear them cheerfully, the 
weight is not quite so heavy. It 
is when we rebel that its weight 
is the heaviest.” 

Meadis and Loran were sitting 
on the old hair-cloth couch and 
George Castle went over and sat 
between them. 

“Meadis and Loran, I love you 
both, and from this day, 1 hope 
you will call me Uncle George. 
Loran used to say ‘Uncle John,’ 
and somehow, it sent a thrill of 
335 


joy to my soul. May I not have 
the same title, Loran?” 

“Yes,” replied Loran. 

“And Meadis— ” 

“Yes.” 

“Good! Now I am going to 
start you both out in life with a 
thousand dollars each,” he said 
taking a check-book from his 
pocket and making out two 
checks to the amount, and hand- 
ing one to each. 

“George, this is mighty good 
of you,” said John Martin, 
“and I—” 

“Not a word, John, not a 
word. I know your heart, old 
chum. The years have been 
many that we have been walk- 
ing apart, but thank God we 
are together once more,” replied 
George Castle as he arose and 
336 


went over to where John stood 
leaning on the mantle. 

“Yes, George it is good,” 
added John Martin as he took 
the proffered hand and crushed 
it warmly in his own. 

“John, while the folks are 
enjoying themselves let us go 
into the garden and have a 
smoke.” 

“All right.” 

Grandma watched them go 
out with the tears of joy in her 
eyes. 


337 


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Deacidified using the Bookkeeper pro< 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 



JUL ' " W 

B0ftKEEPE 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, 








